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VOL. I. 

View from Dark Walk, Newtown-Anner. 










"Galher up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.'' John vi. 12. 


VOL. I. 










THE following compilation requires an explanation as to its 
object and its origin. Amongst the relics I possess of one 
so loved and honoured as was my mother in her lifetime, 
sundry autograph letters hold the first place in value ; and I 
have long wished to publish these testimonials to her worth, 
relying upon the interest attached to the writers, their fame 
being of not a restricted nature. 

It is an excellent rule that has been brought to my know- 
ledge, in consequence of this desire, that no private letters 
can be published without the consent of the writers or their 

In not one single instance has my request been refused, I 
am thankful to say. But my friend Mr. Longman advised 
that as many of Lady Osborne's letters as could be procured 
should likewise be added. I felt the wisdom of the sugges- 
tion, but despaired of its success. It seemed to me that her's 
ought to be rejoinders to those destined for publication. One 
alone, returned after Madame and Monsieur de Sismondi's 


deaths and labelled by that great historian himself for pre- 
servation, came within my reach and appears in this volume. 
I then remember that I had begged from her relations all 
her correspondence with them, in order that I might, when 
time had accustomed me to her loss, read and keep up the 
remembrance of her inner and her daily life : this was my 
sole object. My prayer was granted, but with the excep- 
tion of a few at the moment of their arrival only now have 
I read them, and they convey I find so graphic a picture of 
her own most charming character as well as of one peculiar 
phase of Irish life, that I hope my personal knowledge of 
herself does not deceive me into thinking they may prove 
interesting to the general reader, especially at this moment, 
when, to borrow a figure from the leading article of a 
renowned journal, " Ireland is the country now before the 
footlights of the stage of politics." 

It must never be forgotten that they are letters written 
with no ulterior object, but most of them before the penny 
postage ; therefore longer and more carefully composed than 
are the modern hasty interchanges of the barely needful 
greetings of friends and acquaintances. Still she used to 
say " whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well," 
and she always practised what she preached ; thus, in every 
thing she aimed at intrinsic excellence, not for the purpose 
of outshining others, but in anything she undertook she 
avoided carelessness. 

Names are only left out for reasons that will be obvious 
in themselves, and are given because they are either not in 


themselves altogether unknown or are known and of interest 
in a local sense, or because they elicited in her genuine 
nature strong feelings. 

Reiterations of affection from her constant heart or those 
of invitations given, are not withheld, because though letters 
when collected are read together, the originals arrived at 
intervals more or less long, and they would be no represen- 
tation of herself without these genial assurances and oft- 
repeated tokens of a kind of hospitality, such as is enjoined in 
the New Testament, not looking for a return but to give the 
pleasure it was the delight of her life to impart to others. 
One thing is certain, generations may come and go, and 
possibly so lovely a character as hers may never be repeated 
she had such a grasp of heart and mind, and knew so well 
how " to abound and how to be abased." 

Trifling phrases of domestic concern are left in, for, like 
the homely details of Dutch pictures, they give life and 
reality to the eyes of strangers. 

To a brilliant imagination she joined such a love and study 
of truth, that any fact she mentions may thoroughly be relied 
upon as illustrative of the time and subject alluded to. 

It is singular that the aunt and cousin Margaret to whom 
most of these letters are addressed, both died in her house 
quite suddenly; the former in London and the latter at 

Collecting and transcribing these records has been far 
more a labour of love than of sorrow ; for life is a pilgrimage, 
and the mercy of God affords hope of re-union beyond the 


grave, and I cannot bear the idea of the memory of her 
blessed influence being obliterated. 

One observation more: before proceeding to give a \jrief 
summary of the tenor of her life, I must make, and it is this : 
the frequent and trite notices of her children may seem 
superfluous, but too true a woman's heart beat within her 
with all her intellectual attainments and aspirations to autho- 
rize their omission. 

It is a fitting conjunction that the memory of those who 
appreciated her so much, and towards whom the sentiment 
was reciprocal, should be embalmed together in the same 

Short extracts and apparently trivial notes are not omitted 
if characteristic. 

Her maiden name was that commonest of all Smith. 

Her father, like his progenitors for several generations, 
followed the profession of arms. The Rev. Richard Ramsay, 
mentioned in the book entitled " Wilberfore and his Friends" 
as one of the earliest, if not the first, to turn the attention 
of that famous philanthropist to the condition of the slaves, 
was her maternal grandfather. 

Her husband Sir Thomas Osborne, Bart., was the son of 
the Right Hon. Sir William Osborne, Bart,, who took a 
leading part in the Irish Parliament, and being in the 
opposition rejected all attempts at bribing his convictions, 
with the scorn such proceedings merit; but by several 
writers he is mentioned as an enlightened patriot and states- 
man, endeavouring alike to develope the resources of his 


own estate, and those of that country which he considered 
his country by birth and interest, though now it be the 
fashion to describe those who have both these ties as aliens ! 

His family, being of Norman origin, came over to England 
at the time of William the Conqueror, and settled in Ireland 
in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and on the occasion of a 
great share of Magrath property being confiscated in favor 
of the then head of the family, he offered his hand to the 
two eldest daughters of the dispossessed family, who both 
refused him, but the youngest, Maun Magrath, married 
" the upstart," as in those days he was called, in Ireland, and 
thus from the Norman and the Celt the present representa- 
tives of the family have sprung. When very far advanced 
in life, Sir Thomas Osborne was paying a visit at Brighton ; 
the writers of these letters was there also; and he first 
beheld her under most characteristic circumstances. It was 
in a circulating library, and she was looking over books. 
He was immensely struck by her appearance, for she was 
very handsome and of the Irish type of beauty or rather 
coloring. Deep grey eyes, with black lashes, and raven 
hair, well-chiselled Roman nose, and flat, rather low fore- 
head. She was tall, and her figure perfectly proportioned ; 
her smile was glorious, and the intonation of her voice sweet 
and peculiar. Sir Thomas never rested until he not only 
found out her name and surroundings, but after various 
repulses succeeded in persuading her to leave friends and 
country, and become a naturalized Irishwoman. 

Accustomed as her husband was to a life of intense soli- 


tude and dreariness, though he loved her with the fervor 
that she inspired in all who knew her well, it did not strike 
him that the same soi't of existence depressed and withered 

Her expansive nature needed a wider vent. Many men 
are apt to forget that their own will may not be one of 
infallible excellence, and certainly will not fill the hearts and 
minds of others. How she pined and chafed for friends and 
companions, and how she ever strove to do her duty, her 
letters prove. She married when she was twenty, and was 
a widow at the age of twenty-five, with two children a 
boy and a girl. At the expiration of two years of widow- 
hood she had a years interval of, for her, great excitement 
and what is called gaiety, and none of the letters at this time 
are given, for they contain nothing that portrays her indivi- 
duality, or that would be of general interest. 

She was soon stricken, smitten in the point nearest to her 
heart, and surely never did letters convey a recital of greater 
affliction than was her's. The healing influences of religion, 
conveyed to her through sympathizing friends, taught her 
to raise her drooping head bowed to the earth with misery, 
and giving an object to the elastic tone of her immortal 
spirit; her letters then, show that she deemed religion no 
sick man's delusion, no theme fit for women and children to 
keep them straight, but the motive power of existence to 
initiate every form of philanthrophy, and educe the truth of 
every doctrine out of Scripture. Time wore on, she and 
her daughter made some delightful journies together, and to 


accompany her daughter, she relaxed her strictness of prac- 
tice, and went with her into the world. 

Finally, her daughter married, but they still lived together, 
and were never separated save on the occasions of a short 
expedition Lady Osborne made to Paris, twice to Scotland, 
and occasionally a visit in a country house. 

One of her most valued friends, the Rev. Henry Wood- 
ward commenced his intimacy by volunteering, when he 
heard of her great affliction at the loss of her only son, to 
go and speak to her of the life to come, and he it was 
one of the greatest saints and highest intellects that ever 
graced this earth who pronounced her noble funeral oration. 
Brief though it was I thought he could have hardly got through 
it, but I heard he spoke as if inspired, and never faltered. 
He felt she had gained the heavenly shore first, and that he 
would not long linger behind in the course of nature at his 
advanced age. After her daughter's marriage she took espe- 
cial pleasure in adorning their joint home, and laying out 
the grounds with the perfect taste, and in the large-minded 
manner that was her wont ; and still when the sun shines, it 
seems as if her loving spirit broods there yet. She used often 
to allude to an incident that made a great impression upon 
her. When at Brighton she was struck by the sight of a very 
handsome boy with singularly large, beautiful eyes, and she 
remarked that as he moved along, he seemed to touch every- 
thing ; she asked the reason, and was told that he was quite 
blind. She used to say that the two things she most dreaded was 
the loss of sight, and her strength of mind being impaired ; 


and both these trials consciously fell upon her. Assailed by 
that fatal illness that laid low Sir W. Scott, O'Connell, 
Southey, and so many others, she suffered greatly in her 
last and long illness. One autumn day when all nature was 
arrayed in peculiarly gorgeous hues, and all that she loved 
to look on surrounded her, in an instant she was struck blind 
from amaurosis, and paralysis invaded half her body. 

The rest of her time on earth was a living death to her 
and those around her ; but after some weeks her release 
came. She had naturally a great shrinking from death, but 
about a year before she went hence she startled me by saying 
one day, " I have lost all fear of death ; I don't know how 
it is, but I have." Not long before she was disabled, for the 
first time, too, in her life, she made a point of taking me to 
see the little house at Rochester where she had spent her 
early youth, and the church where she was married. That 
return to the thoughts of the spring time of life always 
appears to me as if it were a blending of the mortal existence 
in its freshness and fulness into that of the immortal youth 
of eternity where (" Oh ! joy unspeakable and full of glory") 
there will be no obscuration and no decay. Blessed be God 
for evermore. Amen. 







"THE first letter given is one taken at random from amongst 
a good many, written in very early girlhood, almost child- 
hood, in French and Italian. It is inserted verbatim, not as 
a specimen of correct French, which it is not, but to mark 
the philosophical tone of observation in her deductions from 
history. The foreign tongue shows her love of languages 
and of self-improvement; and the courteous terms she uses 
were those she always employed to her nearest relations 
evidences of her sweetness of temper and uniform consider- 
ation for others. Probably this letter was sent without 
having even been read over by the writer." 

Je n'ai que deux ou trois minutes avant le diner, et je 
vous les donne ma chere Marguerite, quoique je n'ai rien a 
vous dire. Par ou commencerai-je? Par 1'histoire ancienne 
que vous osez abuser en defiance de Monsieur Hooker et 
de moi ? Ou pourrez vous trouver d'evenements aussi frap- 
pants aussi interessants que dans 1'histoire de Rome dans le 

VOL. I. B 


temps de la republique. Camilla est le plus grand heros dont 
j'al jamais lu 1'histoire, sa conduite a etc celle d'un chretien 
sans en avoir 1'esperance que donne la vraie religion, il faut 
avouer que 1'histoire de la Grece est plus amusant q'aucun 
histoire moderne. Les soldats combattissaient alors avec 
1'enthousiasme qu'inspirait Tamour de la patrie, et de la 
liberte, ce n'etait pas alors comme aujourdhui que la victoire 
ne se devait qu'aux manoeuvres et de la conduite du general, 
alors brillait la valeur du soldat, d'ailleurs les Franais ne 
cedent pas aux plus feroces des anciens, dans leur cruaute je 
parle depuis la revolution, k propos de 1'histoire savez vous 
que dans celle d'Autriche il n y a pas un Empereur qui ait 
tombe victime de la cruaute ou la trahison de ses sujets, je, 
commence a etre jalouse pour la reputation de nous Anglais, 
quand je cherche nos annales et j 'y vois autant d'exemples 
de notre disposition a la revolte. Je vous plains pauvres 
malheureuses que vous etes, je crois vous voir toutes 
souffrant 1'horrible froid qu'il fera (j'en suis bien sur) ce soir 
dans votre route a VV. N'etes vous pas pret a crever d'envie 
me voir dans ma chambre & coucher ou je me suis placee 
pour toute la soiree (car nous avons dine), aupres d'un tres 
bon feu et pour avoir plus chaud je ne me suis pas paree 
aujourdhui pour le diner, je me suis mise avec cette vielle 
robe de votre soeur qu'elle a donne a ma soeur et je suis 
aussi comfortable (ce mot ne ce trouve pas dans la langue 
Fran^aise) qu'il est possible de 1'etre. J'espere que vous vous 
ferez bien agreable ce soir, vous et Sarah afin qu'on ne 
s'aper9oit pas de mon absence, vous direz que je suis bien 
impertinente de vous donner un conseil aussi peu necessaire, 
pardonnez, je ne fais que badiner et seriensement je sais que 
partout on ne pourrait desirer personne dans une compagnie 
ou seraient mes deux cousines. Je vous ai promis dans le 
preface que je n'avais rien a dire qu'ai je dit? J'ai presque 
rempli tout rnon papier neamoins je vous suis tenu parole. 


Vous pourrez aisement resoudre cet enigme, ce n'est pas a 
moi qu'il faut dire qu'on ne sent pas le prix d'un bonheur 
que quand on est pret a le perdre, moi je suis toujours 
sensible a quelque bien qui s'offre pour ma jouissance 
puisque je ne m'attends a aucun. 

Adieu ! 


In the ensuing letter Lady Osborne appears as a young 
bride, married to a man vastly her senior. In the series 
following, the unconscious auto-biographical outline of her 
career will be traced, though often at great intervals of time. 
In this one she gives a description of her Irish home as it 
appeared to her, magnified by contrast with the small house 
and flat landscape to which she had been accustomed. In 
those days Irish establishments were composed of many 
supernumeraries in each department of the household ; and it 
is evident that the bride expected to find a backward state 
of civilization in the land to which she came as a stranger. 

Newtown, May 10th, 1816. 

Clonmel, Co. Tipperary. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I suppose you have received from my 
mother an account of our landing safely at Donaghadee, 
and how remarkably well travelling agrees with me. Change 
of air completely cured my cold, and the early hours I have 
kept, and still continue to keep, have restored my bloom. 
You will be glad to hear that I was greatly pleased at the 
reception I met with at Judge Osborne's. Sir Thomas found 
a letter at Drogheda from Mrs. Osborne, in which she en- 
treated us to turn out of the Dublin road and join them at 
their country house, which is situated about ten miles from 
the city. It is a very pretty place. They keep two car- 



riages, a large establishment of servants, and every thing 
about them announced wealth and luxury. The Judge looks 
the picture of cheerfulness and good humour. He seems 
to be a very sensible and a very friendly man. 

Mrs. Osborne is a very delightful woman well informed 
and agreeable. She appears to be in very delicate health. She 
received me very kindly and not like a stranger. It was 
very gratifying to be treated with friendship and cordiality 
where I had expected to find only coldness and reserve. 
They were so extremely pressing that we should lengthen 
our stay that it was impossible to refuse, and we remained 
with them four days. The family consists of a son, about 
eleven years old, and his tutor ; Miss Osborne, a very pretty 
accomplished girl, and the two Miss Christmas' (daughters of 
that sister of whom Sir Thomas spoke to me, who died 
about three years ago you know I thought he had alluded 
to Lady Carysfort). Mrs. Osborne did her utmost to render 
my stay as agreeable as possible. She shewed me the way 
to the library, which contained every description of books 
to suit any taste the best novels were not forgotten you 
may be sure. 

Saturday the weather was so bad that we were con- 
fined to the house. On Sunday Mrs. Osborne took me to 
Dublin that I might see the town. She took me to see their 
house in Temple Street. It is a remarkably large fine house. 
As we were returning home, she told me that I was that 
day to be introduced to some more relations Mr. Christmas 
(Sir Thomas's brother-in-law), and her brother and his son. 
We found them arrived when we returned to Broomfield. 
I had not time enough to form any judgment of him : he 
went away soon after dinner. Nothing that I saw in the 
house delighted me more than the observation that Mrs. 
Osborne did not sit at the head of her table ; so I shall never 
have to expose myself by awkward carving when they come 


to stay with us, which will be as soon as Trinity term is 
over. The Judge took me, on Monday, to see the Hill of 
Howth, a high mountain, from whence you have a beautiful 
view of the Bay of Dublin. A great work is going on 
there, which will shortly be completed, and which is to 
render the average passage to Holyhead only six hours. 
When that is finished, w r hich will be in the course of a year, 
we shall never have to go to Port-Patrick, and that will 
shorten our journey more than three hundred miles, wdiich 
gives me greater hopes of frequent meetings with my 
friends in England. Were it not for my separation from 
them I should be perfectly happy, for Sir Thomas is all 
attention to my most trifling wish. You would be surprised 
at his minute attention to all my wants. He is never angry 
with me, but when he asks me if I choose anything, so and 
so, I reply " exactly as he pleases," he insists that it should be 
as I please, and that, too, 011 many points where I have no 
choice at all. You cannot imagine how much I was struck 
with the first appearance of Newtown. The situation sur- 
passes in beauty anything I ever saw or even fancied. 
Accustomed as I have been to mountain scenery in my 
journey through Scotland and Ireland, I have seen no chain 
of mountains half so beautiful as those which bound the 
lovely prospect from every window in the front of the house. 
Newtown lies in the Golden Vale, so called from its fertility 
between two lofty ridges of mountains, the famous Slievena- 
mon, properly called Slane of Man in the back ground. It 
is so lofty that its head is very rarely discernable, although 
almost always lost in a cloud: it is barren all the 'way up 
to the top; but the mountains in front of the house are 
planted half way with the most beautiful hanging woods: 
when they are in full leaf the contrast with the brown top 
must be particularly beautiful. 

This place is the most retired of any I have ever seen it 


is impossible to catch the most distant glimpse of the road. 
It is exactly three-quarters of a mile from the Porter's 
Lodge to the house in a direct line. The trees about the 
place are particularly fine the largest ash I ever saw. Some 
very fine arbutus grow on a hillock which fronts the 
western wing of the house, which I understand are very 
beautiful when in berry. The moment we arrived, which 
was early in the morning, Sir Thomas took me to look 
at the kitchen garden, which is very extensive, and kept in 
beautiful order. The gardener attended us. The moment 
he saw me he took off his hat and said, with all the Irish 
warmth of manner, " Welcome to your home my Lady." 
I was, however, rather displeased with him yesterday, when 
Sir Thomas and I shewed him a large piece of ground, full 
of pretty shrubs, which I wished laid out in a garden, he 
said it was too late in the year. I sturdily insisted that 
Mrs. Osborne told me that it was not too late, and she is a 
very good florist. Mr. Quin said he would try, but the 
ground was too hard for digging. I then gave up the point, 
but desired him to raise a great number of greenhouse 
plants in the hot house, which he readily promised ; and I 
intend to have the hall ornamented with them as soon as 
they arrive at a proper size. 

The house is immensely large ; the hall very magnificent, 
supported in the centre by four pillars. Sir Thomas built 
the whole front of the house, and it does great credit to his 
taste. You could dance thirty couple both in the drawing- 
room and dining-room, which are of exactly the same size. 
I do ndt occupy either when Sir Thomas is from home or 
engaged. I should feel quite lost in those great rooms where 
no sound is to be heard but the cawing of rooks and the 
echo of my own footsteps. 

It is a cheerful sight some part of the day to see many 
soldiers whom Sir Thomas gives leave to come from Clonmel 


and climb up the trees to take down the nests of rooks. 
They make pies of the young birds ; it is astonishing that 
their number never diminishes in the least, although both 
Sir Thomas and his father have from time immemorial given 
leave to the military to take away their young. If they 
were to decrease he would put a stop to it, for we both like 
their noise so much. Johnstone (as she is now called), and I 
occupy my dressing-room a great deal. I make her sit there 
that I may sometimes see a female face hear a human 
voice. I never saw a house so still and solitary as this. It 
is so very much apart from the servants; no door of com- 
munication upstairs with their apartments. My maid and I 
walk along the long corridor, from room to room, without 
more fear of interruption from a single being than if we 
were in the deserts of Arabia. 

Sir Thomas's dressing-room is down stairs. He says that 
a lady should delegate all her authority over the female part 
of the establishment to the housekeeper and her own maid ; 
and the gentleman, to his butler. She should never give 
any orders to the inferior servants, because that would create 
confusion. I am sure his method must be the best, for I 
never saw a house managed with so much order and regu- 
larity in my life; every servant understands his or her 
particular business so well, that everything goes by clock- 
work. At I was surprised by the want of attention 

to neatness, by the dirty appearance of the staircase, so that 
I expected very naturally to find this house much worse, 
being the residence of a bachelor. 

You may conceive how agreeably I was surprised by the 
extreme cleanliness of every part, that I have seen not only 
the general appearance, but every crevice is kept so perfectly 
nice. Whenever Johnstone rings the bell for the house- 
maid to supply the fire in my dressing-room with coals, she 
always comes up with a duster to remove every spot of dust 


from the room. I dwell upon this point because I know you 
have conceived an idea that the Irish are so very inattentive 
to cleanliness; but I understand this house is differently 
managed from Irish houses in general, because Sir Thomas 
is known to be so very particular, and because his butler is 
an Englishman. 

Our establishment is very large indeed. My maid tells 
me that they sate down six-and-twenty to dinner in the 
servants' hall yesterday, and some of the people were 
out. It is the fashion in Ireland for the upper servants to 
dine with the rest, except the kitchen-maid, groom, and 
whipper-in, who attend on them and dine afterwards. Sir 
Thomas keeps an immense number of hounds at a farm 
called Killaloan. He sent his huntsman out with them 
yesterday to procure me some hares, which I said I was fond 
of. I wish Richard could come; he would enjoy hunting 
over the mountains, and fishing in the Anner, for trout. It 
runs through Newtown. I have a beautiful view of it from 
my window ; and the walk along its banks is delightful. It 
was the day before yesterday we arrived, and Sir Thomas 
would not rest until I had seen the Suir that very evening. 
It is a very clear and beautiful river, which runs at the foot 
of those fine mountains I have spoken of; it divides the 
counties of Waterford and Tipperary. Waterford is on the 
other side, and it is there Sir Thomas's estate chiefly lies. 
From one side of the stream you have a good view of the 
Castle Theckincor, the ancient seat of the Osborne family, 
now uninhabitable; and it was to that Captain Burton 
alluded when he spoke of Sir Thomas's castle to Sarah. If 
she should ever see him again, she may tell him that Sir 
Thomas has such a castle, but he does not live there. 

I have not been to Clonmel yet, on account of the lame- 
ness of one of the carriage horses. Sir Thomas intends to 
drive four and he is looking out for another pair, but they 
are difficult to procure. His coachman did receive orders 


respecting them, which he neglected to execute. We have 
a coachman and postillion, two footmen wait upon us at 
dinner, and there are two more about. The head footman 
is qualified, in my opinion, to take the place of butler, if Mr. 
Grove should leave us, which I hope he will not do. Sir 
Thomas is very much attached to him and he seemed very 
assiduous that everything should please me. Sir Thomas 
had not exaggerated in the accounts he gave us of the Suir 
salmon it is the finest I ever tasted; the cream is so thick 
you could almost cut it. Johnstone told the dairy-maid that 
I intend to visit her dairy and she is quite delighted at the 
idea, being curious to see me, which hardly any of the ser- 
vants have. Sir Thomas thinks that a lady ought never to 
show herself in her kitchen, because his mother never was 
in hers. I assure you I was quite surprised when I obtained 
permission to see the dairy. You know you desired me to 
be very particular or I should not have troubled you with 
these minute details. I have talked much of the interior 
of the menage because I cannot tell of the people. I know 
nothing of the neighbourhood as yet. Mrs. Osborne tells 
me that the society is much diminished but that I shall 
have some few pleasant neighbours. I do not expect any 
calls until I have been seen at church. 

With regards to my uncle, love to Sarah, Margaret, and 
Jane, and your sons, I remain my dear aunt, 

Your affectionate niece, 


My letter is a complete volume of egotism, not one kind 
wish or kind enquiry will you excuse me because I had so 
much to say and my situation is yet so new. Imagine I 
have said everything that is kind, and let me soon hear that 
your health, is amended. 

Judge Osborne is as fond of the word " mighty " as his 
brother ; they seem to be on the most affectionate terms. 


Newtown, July 18th, 1816. 

MY DEAREST MARGARET. I have delayed writing to you 
for some time expecting that I should have it in my power 
to announce the departure of a parcel I am going to send 
to England, but the Limerick gloves are still detained and 1 
am obliged to defer sending off the tabinets until their 
arrival ; there is no fear, I think, that they should be found 
too warm to wear this season, for my part I have given up 
all hopes of summer, we have fires constantly and are very 
glad to eat strawberries and cream by a blazing hearth. 
Our gardener is very proud of his production of strawberries, 
they are considered the finest and largest in the country, 
indeed I think he is so anxions to excel in every thing that 
I have great hopes rny flower garden will flourish as the 
ladies in this country are the best of florists I ever knew, 
indeed they sacrifice the beauty of their pleasure grounds to 
the production of the finest flowers. Connoisseurs think that 
flowers of each sort should be kept apart from the rest, 
therefore I must have one part of my garden laid out in 
beds that I too may have the finest of Flora's productions, 
although I think that method very formal. 

A few days ago I had a visit from a Quaker who resides 
about a mile from the house of Newtown, about a quarter of 
a mile from the gates. I did not know that Quakers were 
in the habit of paying visits, and I was inclined to believe she 
had called on business, she desired the servant to announce 

her by the name of Elizabeth C , she did not return my 

curtsy by the slightest bend, but said, " I have not been 
well lately or I should have called sooner to welcome thee, 
friend Osborne " ; upon the whole I was greatly pleased 
with her manner. Sir Thomas has a great respect for their 
Society and he says he is very proud of the visit, for it was 
paid he is certain by the agreement of the whole Society at 


Clonmel in order to show their approbation of his choice. 
All my tradespeople are Quakers they are the pleasantest 
people to deal with in Ireland, so cleanly and obliging. I 
am never allowed to stay in the shop but am always shown 
into a neat parlour and every thing brought me that I 
require to look at. I am sure to be asked by the women to 
take some refreshment. I am a subscriber to a charitable 
institution which the Quakers have established ; in com- 
pliance with their customs I have set down my name simply 
Catherine Osborne. 

Pray tell my aunt that I am greatly obliged to her for her 
recipe which I copied for the butler directly and he is 
making the wine will it be fit for drinking as soon as 
bottled ? I have also had some ginger wine ; don't you 
think I am setting the Irish a good example. I made a 
discovery a few days since of a chest of books which has 
never been opened since it was brought from the house in 
Dublin a few years after the Union, I called for the key 
directly and absolutely danced with joy when I found it 
contained some of the best authors of a lighter kind, and 
just fit for my dressing-room, where I have had them placed 
on shelves. Those in Sir Thomas' sitting-room consist of the 
best historians. 

I have just finished Plutarch's Lives and have as much 
time for reading as I can possibly desire. Sir Thomas never 
interferes in my occupations. 

You say that you found the artillery ball very pleasant ; 
but you have given me no account of the party you met 

How is my dear Anna ? I hope she will not suffer from the 
hooping cough. 

I think it is most probable Sir Thomas and I shall have 
the pleasure of seeing you all in the course of next year, not 
in the spring. I am afraid Sir Thomas fancies he will have 


so much to do at that time, although every succeeding spring 
I think we shall pass in London, and in this hope, with love 
to every one, I remain, 

My dear Margaret, your affectionate cousin, 


Is Georgina still with you? What a pity that James* 
regiment is not quartered at Clonmel instead of braving the 
ocean : it is seldom things happen as we wish. I wrote to 
mamma yesterday. Does Jane return to school ? 

" With Lady Osborne the slightest courtesy to herself 
reckoned for so much, while she took no count of the 
greatest sacrifices on her own part, whereas in this world so 
many do just the opposite, taking the greatest benefits as 
matters of course, and considering their own most trifling 
attentions as such valuable services. 

"In these days of female University education, the fol- 
lowing letters may be deemed old-world woman's twaddle 
regarding trifling home interests and occupations. But this 
is no mere collection of moral, and political, and religious 
essays; it is the picture of a complete character, and the 
details therein mentioned prove the tender mother she was." 

Ne\rto\m, September 11. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, You do me very great injustice if 
you really suppose your letters can ever become a matter of 
indifference to me; on my side, I think, no proof of indiffer- 
ence has been evinced. I think I have been a very punctual 
correspondent. I cannot say the same for you. It is the 
first wish of my heart to prevail on the senior branches of 
your family to permit you to return with us when we visit 
England; that cannot be in the next spring. Even after I 
have recovered from my confinement, it will be impossible 


to travel with a very young infant. .-- ..' . I am very 
busy at work, the only sort of work that I ever found 
amusing or interesting. My mother is helping me ; all the 
hemming and sewing business I leave to Johnstone. If you 
and Sarah will favour me with a sample of your industry, 
in the shape of a little cap, I shall be very much obliged to 
you, but don't give yourself the trouble of making it up, 
as 1 have lace enough by me for every purpose, and any in 
addition would be of no use. I shall order my winter array 
from Miss Wornum very shortly, and she would forward 
the performance of your needle in the parcel which she will 
send me. I hope the box of tabinets will arrive safely, and 
that you will like yours. I had very few patterns to select 
from; had I been in Dublin, I could have made a better 
selection. The parcel travels all the way to London by 
water, which will render the time of its arrival uncertain. 
I have had three views taken, one of this house, another, 
from the lower end of our avenue, of the mountains in the 
Co. Waterford (you know the counties of Tipperary and 
Waterford are only divided by the river Suir), the third is 
of the bridge of Theckincor, over the same river; it is 
always called Sir Thomas's bridge, and it is thus the artist 
designates it. At the bottom of the landscape you will see 
in this the remains of Theckincor Castle, the ancient seat of 
the family. It stands at the foot of one of those mountains 
which you see in the view taken from the avenue. I have 
been thus particular in designating the subjects of these 
drawings, because I mean to send them to Aunt Warde that 
you may be enabled to form some idea of the place; they 
are not sufficiently well done to bear a very close examina- 
tion, but will look well at a distance, and they are correct 
likenesses. You will see that our porter's lodge is very 
small I hope to add to it hereafter ; it is that small build- 
ing which terminates the road in the mountain landscape. 


Georgina would teach you to despise the drawings because 
they are not highly finished, but I have paid for them much 
more than they are worth that I might have the pleasure of 
sending them to you. I told you how much I was pleased 
with my husband's connexions. Lord Carysfort is not an 
Irish absentee; a great part of his estate is in England, and 
it is there he was born and bred. He visits his Irish pro- 
perty every year, and is greatly attached to this fine country. 
We dine at Lord Donoughmore's ; he has not been long 
returned from London. We are all very quiet and peaceable 
in Ireland ; it is you English who are given to riotous and 
seditious practices. My mother is prepared to laugh at your 
notions of the state of this country. You have no idea how 
ardently I long to see you all again, and with what pleasure 
I think of the happy days we used to pass together : one day 
they will return. 

I wish you would all visit Ireland ; but it is you I think, 
who would least regret the secluded life you must neces- 
sarily lead at Newtown in consequence of Sir Thomas's 
haughty contempt of public amusements in the county or 
even at Dublin. I flatter myself you would consider our 
society, and the quiet enjoyments of reading, &c., sufficient 
to render your stay with us cheerful, although it would not 
be gay. We drive out every day ; it is the only exercise I 
can endure, and even that I am not very fond of. I would 
rather stay at home and lounge on the sofa. You know my 
habits of indolence. 

I can conceive how happy you must be at Binfield. Pray 
give my love to Mrs. Ancrum, and thank her for her kind 
letter which I intend to answer shortly. 

Give my compliments to Georgina, whose ceremonious 
epistle tells me I should never have received it but in conse- 
quence of my mother's coming here. I sincerely hope her 
health is better. Let me hear from you soon, and how Jane 


and Elizabeth proceed, and the news of the Reading ball. 
I have heard what a complete convert . . . has become 
to the profession of flirting, in spite of all former protesta- 
tions; and I have heard of her's and S.'s conquests at 

I will let you know when I send off the drawings. Fare- 
well ! Remember me kindly to all your circle. When shall 
I see you all? Believe me 

Your very affectionate cousin, 


My mother desires her love ; Sir Thomas his compliments. 

Newtown, November, 5. 

MY DEAR SARAH, I thank you for the recollection of me, 
and your regret for the time we spent at Brighton last year. 
Mamma can tell you how I regret my separation from friends 
from the companions of my youth how anxiously I long 
to meet them once more. I beg you will still preserve me 
in your memory ; and depend upon it, if ever it should be 
in my power to choose my own habitation, it will be at 
least within a drive of yours ; let me hope that we shall 
meet with undiminished affection. You talk of new friends 
of a variety of scenes as if I were placed in the centre 
of society. 

You little know the extreme retirement of our way of 
life; the manner you pass your time at Yalding may be 
esteemed dissipated compared to it. We are sometimes 
whole weeks without seeing the face of an acquaintance; 
and such is the haughty reserve which Sir Thomas keeps up 
in the neighbourhood that, with a few exceptions (only 
three I believe) I can call on the families once a year, no 
more, even should they persevere in visiting me. I do not 
mention this as a source of regret. Dinner-parties are always 


formal ; and the people instead of partaking of that frank 
character usually supposed to belong to the natives of Ire- 
land, are as grave as any set of beings can possibly be. 
Were it otherwise, my situation would at present disable 
me from entering into parties of any kind, I have suffered 
so dreadfully from sickness, and that sometimes the whole 
day. I am tempted sometimes to suppose that the dampness 
of the season increases my malady. You cannot conceive 
how disagreeable it is to me to undergo the fatigue of taking 
a short walk, which is deemed absolutely necessary. 
It is better to submit to an evil than to seek a remedy which 
may weaken me and my infant. You cannot imagine the 
anxiety with which I look forward to the latter end of 
February. I long to have this new interest, and conceive 
myself happy in the prospect. ... I think it is hardly 
fair of me to impose on you the task of working for my 
baby, when I have often blamed you for labouring in the 
cause of others ; at least do not hurry yourself to finish the 
cap. Infants wear caps so long that it will be useful if not 
completed for months after its birth. My mother and I are 
anxious to hear how Uncle Warde finds himself; it is pro- 
bable this cold weather will brace his nerves. I hope you 
will be able to send us favorable accounts. Your visit to 

Mrs. must, indeed, have been delightful, and so near 

the . . . 

I can conceive nothing more cheerful than your party. I 
think we enjoy the society of our friends more when they 
live within a short distance, than when actually in the same 
house. ; the short separation produces always something new 
to relate. I think I never was so happy as during our 
abode at the parsonage ; should we ever again be placed in 
a situation somewhat similar, it will be when the fervour of 
youth is passed, when calm cheerfulness will be substituted 
for variety and gaiety will that be a bad exchange ? 


Mamma says that she thinks my sickness and langour would 
be cured by a meeting with you, and the renewal of some 
of our former hearty laughs. I must not think of impos- 
sibilities. Give my love to Aunt Akers ; let me know 
Aretas' direction at Oxford, and I will answer his letter. 
Give my love to Aunt Warde and Jane ; I advise the latter 
by all means to go to a Brighton ball. 

Mamma unites with me in remembrance. Believe me, 
Your very affectionate cousin, 


Anna sends her love and wishes to know your opinion of 
her poetical flight ; it was sent you by Georgina, I think. 

Newtown, December 6. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, As I conclude you have reached 
Yalding before my letter can arrive thither, I will venture 
to address you there. I did not answer the letter you wrote 
me from Binfield, because I intended that my epistle to 
Georgina should convey you all the intelligence I find it in 
my power to communicate. If I were to wait until I had 
anything new to relate, I believe it would be long before 
you would hear from me. I have positively not seen a 
single acquaintance, even during a morning visit, for a 
month and upwards. You see your retirement at Yalding 
is dissipation compared to our way of life here ; a drive to 
Clonmel on business, the voice of the tradesman, or the 
shrill tone of the beggar, are the only sounds we ever hear 
beyond the gates of this mansion; and within, the change 
from a sprig to a row of hem stitch, the variation of our 
employment; and with me, the passage from Hume to a 
play, nevertheless, I am cheerful and happy. You know I 
have ever affirmed how little gaiety is necessary to happi- 
VOL. i. c 


ness. At present I could not endure the exertion of going 
out or mixing with strangers. My sickness, I am happy to 
say, has left me for the last week. I am recovering strength 
and gaining an appetite. My thoughts are constantly fixed 
on the delightful prospect of my infant's birth, and my 
fingers employed in preparing for its reception. I should 
have felt differently had I anticipated the misery of con- 
signing it to a nurse. 

I believe I should have recovered sooner than I have done 
had I been with you ; for I attribute my present good state 
of health to the exertions I made of my own accord to 
shake off langour, and not to the prescriptions of my phy- 
sicians : your society would have proved a wonderful 

I received a shock last week by the death of my house- 
keeper who had been ill some time ; she did not die in the 
house. Sir Thomas has written to Dublin for another. I 
hope she will arrive before Judge Osborne and his family, 
who are to pass Christmas here with us ; they will be pre- 
ceded by a piano, which has been ordered from a famous 
instrument maker in Dublin. I confess I only wish for its 
arrival as an ornament to the drawing-room; this you will 
not be inclined to doubt. 

What pleasure I shall have in presenting my child to my 
aunt and cousins; how I wish the happy moment could 
arrive. I am indebted to Aunt Warde and Sarah for a letter : 
this to you will serve for a fortnight. Adieu ! with 
mamma's love and Anna's. Believe me, dear Margaret, 

Your affectionate cousin, 


Anna is become a great chess-player ; she is now fretting 
and fuming over a move to the great amazement of Sir 
Thomas, who thinks her ill-humour very entertaining. 


Newtown, August 10. 

You are right, my dear Margaret. I have nothing to 
relate nothing to say that merits to be introduced into a 
letter. My time is divided between nursing my little 
William, attending birds and plants, superintending im- 
provements, and reading. Anna is this moment watching 
my baby ; she got him to clap hands, and laid him in his 
cradle ; she is quite a capital nurse, and not a little proud of 
her own skill. I put him into short clothes as soon as he 
was four month's old; he is too hardy to mind anything, 
and he will walk earlier from that very cause. I am very 
sorry mamma did not take you the views of Newtown ; they 
would have given you a good idea of my abode. The 
bathing-place is a favorite spot with me ; the river is over- 
hung with trees, and a little moss hermitage to undress in. 
I am become as fond of the water as an otter; and it is 
much pleasanter to bathe in a river, than in a closed bath, 
because you have the advantage of sun. I take so much 
exercise in walking about the place, and riding, &c., that I 
am grown quite thin which, however, I don't mind because 
I have always rather had reason to dread growing fat than 
thin, and I feel quite well; but I think you would see a 
great alteration in me. 

To-morrow I begin to paper and paint the drawing-room. 
I was compelled to rely on my own taste entirely, and I have 
chosen to have it painted in an excellent imitation of Satin 
wood ; it will be done by a very clever painter whom Lord 
Lismore brought from London to do his own house, and we 
have engaged him before his departure. 

Thank Aunt Warde for her remembrance of me ; how 
happy I shall be when we all meet again. I never forget 
the happy hours we have spent in each other's society 
the many hearty laughs we have enjoyed together. I am 



become such a steady matron that I don't expect to laugh 
much again. 

My " Cupid " is just awake, and Anna is playing with 
him on the sofa ; there cannot be a more healthy or'lovelier 
child ; he is kicking up his little feet as if he were proud of 
his shoes. 

Anna is feeding a bullfinch she has tamed herself ; he 
perches on her hand, and lets her stroke him. You en- 
courage me to hope for better times, and that things will be 
softened. Alas ! I have no hope. People at a certain time 
of life are very obstinate, besides my pride is strong. My 
only resource is to think as little as possible, and I never 
allow myself to be a moment unoccupied. My chief com- 
fort is, that I am not restrained in expense, which is certainly 
a great advantage, when there are so many wretched objects 
to relieve. I have sent my little boy out, and am going to 
accompany him. 

Give my love to all your circle; tell Sarah my little 
William is now wearing her cap, and it becomes him 
extremely. Adieu, my dear Margaret ! Believe me, 

Your affectionate cousin, 


Newtown, December 21st. 

MY DEAR SARAH You have no idea how continually my 
mind is reflecting on the happy days we have spent together, 
nor with what feverish anxiety I long for a return of those 
cheerful hours. I don't think I have had one hearty laugh 
since we parted, the weather has been so bad lately as to 
confine me almost entirely to the house, I seldom get beyond 
the greenhouse, but sit in an old-fashioned arm chair read- 
ing sometimes a grave instructive book, at others a lighter 
publication. I have other occupations in which I engage 
when I feel quite well, that is free from sickness and langour, 


amongst my whims is an inveterate aversion to the dining- 
room ; I cannot account for it except by the desolate 
appearance and the miserable want of paint ; it would 
have been impossible to have had it done this summer for 
the drawing-room which was begun in August is not finished 
yet, the curtains are not done. I declare you might furnish 
ten houses in England whilst you are doing one room in 
Ireland. Miss Edgeworth may well say, Aladdin's work- 
men were not Irish, you can get everything as well done 
here but you must wait ten times as long for it. I was 
speaking of my aversion to the dining-room, sometimes I 
go down stairs quite well and the moment the door of the 
room is opened I am obliged to run back ; I therefore dine 
alone at an early hour upstairs and continue by great exer- 
tion to sit out the ceremony of dishes and knives and forks, 
these fancied miseries are really more keenly felt than many 
real privations would be. I never till now fully understood 
the miseries that women of the lower class are obliged to 
undergo. No wonder they sometimes sink under them with 
several young children to mind at a time when they are 
subject to sickness and weakness, even supposing them free 
from mental anxiety. I find myself I am obliged to have 
the maid in the room with me that I may not lose my little 
boy's society, for I could not walk about with him for any 
length of time without great fatigue ; however I am getting 
much stronger and my appetite which I had entirely lost is 
returning. William is everything I could wish, he is not 
one of those fat enormous children more to be wondered at 
than liked, but plump, rosy and so healthy at this season 
he delights to caper in his bath of cold water and sits down 
in it looking round in triumph, by which means he is become 
so hardy as never to take cold, and his flesh is as firm as 
iron, he eats like a little ploughman, and is never so happy as 
when he gets a piece of beef full of red gravy to suck 


Anna was very fond of him until the goats came to displace 
him in her regard, and these have since been entirely 
neglected for the sake of an ugly little dog which is her 
constant companion, and as Pompey with very little ceremony 
jumps on her at all times and makes her so dirty that she 
looks like a young Shanavat. How I long to see the neat 
hedgerows of England ! here the fields are divided by earth- 
banks sometimes faced with loose stones, is it not shameful 
idleness ? Do tell me what sort of weather you have in 
England all this month we have had incessant rain, while 
I daresay you have been enjoying fine clear frosty weather. 
I love the sight of snow in winter and it makes our fireside 
so cheerful, and here I have never seen it lie except on the 
top of mountains. When it snows with you we have odious 
black rain which is much more disagreeable. 

Adieu, my dear Sarah, let me hear from you soon ; give 
my love to all your circle, and believe me my dear Sarah, 
Your affectionate cousin, 


Tell mamma I am putting off writing to her until I have 
transacted her business. 

Newtown, February 23rd. 

MY DEAR MARGARET It is long since I have addressed a 
letter to Yalding, not as you suppose from indolence, but 
really because I have been so unsettled ; in such a state of 
suspense I could not bear to write, I have vainly waited for 
this suspense to end, and I will no longer defer writing. 
You must know Sir Thomas had flattered himself that my 
present situation would exonerate him from his promise of 
taking me to England as he had heard the old-fashioned 
opinion that it was running a risk to travel. . . I even 
determined to fret myself into a consumption, and I assured 


Dr. that I was resolved to continue ill, accordingly 

I used to lie awake at night, the consequence was a loss of 
appetite and extreme weakness ; however the persuasions of 
Mrs. Riall and my own reflexions which warned me not to 
sport with a good constitution got the better of this very 
wrong idea. I have employed and aroused myself until I 
have become cheerful and healthy as usual, and have re- 
solved never to give way to those transports which I have 

found so injurious. Dr. says he is determined to 

urge the journey on which my heart is set with so much 
earnestness that he must prevail, God grant he may ! but 
do not let my mother be alarmed, because I am firmly 
resolved to endure a disappointment with composure, indeed 
the cheerfulness of the season and William's increasing 
attractions have filled me with gay hopes for the future, and 
I shall comfort myself with the idea that were I to go now 
my stay would be short, whereas at another period I should 
stay three months. My heart beats with agitation whenever 

Dr. makes his appearance because I expect every 

succeeding visit will terminate my suspense, but Sir Thomas 
has latterly not been in the way when he arrived, and I 
don't choose to send for him because he would know that it 
was concerted. . . would advise me to quarrel and insist, 
but I am sensible no such method could be more unavailing, 
certainly none less proper, besides to tell the truth my 
disposition would not allow of such a line of conduct, I am 
in a manner cheated out of all inclination to betray discon- 
tent by a sense of the most considerate attentions which 
hourly win on the regard even my faults are humoured. 
If Sir Thomas perceives that I am not inclined to leave my 
drawing when the tea equipage appears, he has it placed on 
a table which is at a distance from the fire, that I may not 
be disturbed, and makes tea himself. I am not allowed to 
stir for anything that I want, he waits on me with so much 


assiduity ; anything I fancy he is never easy until it be 
procured, he never complains of any expense which has been 
incurred to gratify me, and he has lately paid bills for the 
greenhouse and other improvements solely for my gratifica- 
tion to the amount of nearly three thousand pounds ; these 
considerations restrain me from violent opposition indepen- 
dently of any feeling of impropriety. 

Adieu, my dear Margaret believe me your very affec- 
tionate cousin, 


I have practised drawing during the last month, I am 
strongly tempted to send you a specimen in the parcel. 

Newtown, August 2. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I have been now some days enlivened 
with the visit of Mr. Christmas' family, and in some degree 
reminded of the happy days we have all spent together. I 
think of their departure with a sort of dread ; that is, when 
I allow myself to think at all ; you know I had always a 
habit of driving away disagreeable reflections. They go to 
Bath this winter, and I have proposed to make my escape, 
and run away with them ; once there, I should not be long 
in finding my way to Kent with the children. We have not 
yet settled how Sir Thomas would act on discovering my 
elopement. I think he would write to Mr. Domvile ;* but I 
don't believe he would act against me, so I think I could 
venture. The Misses C. and their brother observe that Sir 
Thomas is more altered than they expected to find him, and 
Mr. C. says he looks as ill as he did when he was at the 
worst. He continues in the same state he was when my 
mother left Newtown. 

* His law agent. 


My little girl grows very fat, and still continues free from 
any symptoms of illness. William grows too fond of her, 
he cries if not allowed to kiss her when she is asleep. Mr. 
Christmas tells me that the world regards me as an astonishing 
young woman to support seclusion as I have hitherto. I did 
not know until lately that I was known at all. You see my 
vanity is gratified in one way at least. 

The whole family are gone to church, except . . . and 
me. I could not leave my haby for any time, and I am 
obliged to take her with me when I make a call. Oh, if we 
had gone to England before Sir Thomas' illness he would 
have been chained up there. How happy should I be there. 
Is it not very hard that I cannot show my little ones to my 
friends ? 

I think William would be the favorite at present, as he is 
certainly at a very engaging age. All my airy castles have 
Kent for their object. I never walk of an evening but I 
remember our strolls to the village, and visits to Tomkins' 

I never knew till now I had such a strong local attachment. 
I am convinced however beautiful to the eye of taste are 
wooded mountains, with their tops, and rapid little rivers like 
the Anner ; yet to the eye of feeling, there is nothing like 
our native scenes. I long for the rural ones of England. 
You know I used to wish to visit Paris ; I never wish it now. 

You expect that we are never to meet again. I feel that 
we shall, and the idea inspires me with a feeling of cheerful- 
ness that spreads itself over the present moment. 

I hope I shall find everything with you as it used to be. 
I think I should even miss . . . growling and fretting 
when she was kept up late at night. I hope Mrs. Joy* is as 
witty as ever; let her treasure up all her jokes for my 

* Mrs. Joy was nurse in the Warde family. 


entertainment. Mamma will tell you that I even enquired the 
fate of an old painted table which, in the prime of its life, 
used to hold our bread and butter, and milk and water, and 
after served as a stand for basins ; in its infirm state rather 
injudiciously applied, certainly. I am particularly induced 
to remember that from the happy hours we used to devote 
to the occupation of twisting papillotes and brushing hair; 
and I always think with regret of the time when we sate in 
our robes de ckambre by the nursery fire. I trust that good 
old custom continues. I am expecting every day a letter 
from my mother to inform me of her safe arrival not that 
I apprehend any danger from the sea. Do you know, that 
I never dwell with regret on the memory of balls ; yet 'tis 
not that vanity has necessarily left me. My glass tells me 
that I never looked so well as at this moment, and I am not 
sorry to see it. And with this piece of conceit, I say farewell. 
Give my love to all. 

Yours very sincerely, 


Newtown, September 20. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, On this day week I am to lose my 
cheerful party, when it will be almost worse than if they had 
never come. Can you imagine the change ? did you ever know 
solitude like mine? But I shall live in the hope of seeing 
England in the spring. How I wish I had you for my 
companion this winter. I think we could spend our time 
very pleasantly ; at least, I am sure I should. All my feelings 
of enjoyment have for their object the circle at Yalding or 
Tunbridge Wells. I think when I am going there I could 
wish to shut my eyes on every object in the journey, and 
only open them on Yalding or Tunbridge Wells. You 
cannot imagine with what sensations I go through the scenes 


of former days ; our walks to the parsonage, and even the 
stiles and the hedges of Kent. I imagine myself translating 
Tasso in your parlor, with Sarah at the same employment ; 
our studies repeatedly interrupted by hearty laughter and 
cheerful converse. You will find me unchanged by absence 
with the same sedentary habits, and almost the same 
pursuits. Mamma will tell Sarah that I have not given up 
Italian, although I had not been so assiduous at it since I 
began to draw. Tell Sarah that by the time I go to England 
I hope to have something worthy of her album. On Monday 
week my baby becomes little Catherine. We shall not be 
able to have any one to dine with us, on account of Sir 
Thomas, who is still unable to join us ; so it must be a kind 
of dejeuner, and the christening must take place early. The 
little thing has become very fat, so as to make William 
appear quite thin ; he is, however, in excellent health, and in 
eternal exercise. Neither of them ever occasion me a 
moment's anxiety. William does not yet speak ; that is, he 
only says, papa and mamma when he is told. I am sure you 
would think him more engaging than his sister at the present 
time. Boys and girls are equally interesting whilst they are 
so young, and I think I like them better when they are 
running about than as infants. 

William Christmas is as mad for shooting as we are for 
sketching, and sometimes returns from the mountains 
drenched with rain. He says we should take out a "license" 
for our amusement, as he is obliged to do for his, and then he 
could make the barge horses turn back when our car is posted 
by the side of the Suir, as a junction with them would be 
rather awkward. Think of the doleful change the week 
after next will bring forth. Imagine me at solitary meals and 
solitary occupations, with only a distant prospect of amend- 
ment, and having been for the last two or three months 
accustomed to a pleasant family party. How I wish you 


would come to me ; would you if you could ? with the certainty 
of returning in the spring, which I can promise. At all events, 
why cannot Richard bring you over ? Sir Thomas would 
be very glad that I had you with me; he actually asked 
the Christmas' to give up going to England, that they 
might stay with me ; which was rather unconscionable, as the 
journey will be a novelty to them, and they are to meet their 
aunt and cousin. They are in future to spend every winter 
in England. 

Our going to London will be an advantage to them, as 
Mr. Christmas is not able to frequent public places, on 
account of his health, and you know I shall be a chaperon. 
I should not despair of getting Sir Thomas to Bath, he is 
in such a complying mood, were he independent of Dr. R., 
and well enough for the journey. He confessed of his own 
accord that his real motive for declining to go to England 
this next spring, was that feeling of illness which he did not 
like to acknowledge even to himself, having been so little 
used to illness. Even had he not withdrawn his consent, 
you see, the attack came on just at the time when we should 
have been setting off. Give my love to all your dear party, 
and believe me, 

Your very affectionate cousin, 


Newtown, November 12. 

MY DEAREST AUNT, The renewal of our correspondence 
gives me very great pleasure, although I am conscious that 
the blame of our suspended intercourse rests with me. You 
ask me in what mood you should write to me, and I can 
answer, exactly as you wrote last. Your letter was a delight- 
ful one, and did me a great deal of good. It cheered me, 
by convincing me that you think of me with the same 


affection as ever, and it proves to me that you anticipate 
our reunion with much of the warm hope that I feel myself- 
I have ever felt for you the affection which a daughter ex- 
periences towards a mother, and I think of you with all that 
interest which the recollection of uninterrupted kindness as 
long as I can remember has the power of bestowing; all 
my happiest hours were spent with you and my cousins, 
and all my wishes tend to a re-union with my mother and all 
my family. My letter to aunt Akers was written in a very 
dejected state just recovered from a fit of illness. I had 
abandoned myself to the despondency which languid debi- 
lity is so apt to produce ; with returning strength the clouds 
of sadness disappeared, and I am now in a state of cheer- 
fulness, contented with the present, and anticipating a 
happy future. I am delighted with the picture you have 
drawn of the Lorkings. ... I should like much to be 
acquainted with them. 

I can readily believe that they are as happy now as when 
they occupied Clare Hall. Whilst you have sufficient to , 
exonerate you from apprehension for the future, and to j 
secure you present comforts, to be deprived of what is mere 
show would give little concern to those over whom vanity 
has no power. After all, how little of a large income is 
enjoyed by the actual possessor? It goes to support 
servants for whom he has no employment ; carriages for 
which he has scarcely any use, and to accumulate plate and 
toys which he never looks at ; whilst he abandons his 
spacious and elegant apartments to retire to some small room 
in a remote corner of his house, where he can enjoy the 
comfort of looking round him, without finding his eye lost 
in the space which a large room thinly inhabited affords. 
It is easy for me to say, in what my happiness would consist. 
It requires a very good income, though not a large one ; I 
must be able to surround myself with those I love; I must 


have the disposition of my own time, without a troublesome 
care for the future, and without any personal privation, or 
any want of comfort in my establishment. About show I 
have become quite indifferent ; about general society I am 
not only indifferent, but I actually dislike it. 

I can readily conceive your unwillingness to sacrifice a 
day of the society of your friends, for the mere amusement 
of seeing a great city. I should feel exactly so under 
similar circumstances My mother has felt your loss very 
severely, and has also suffered great uneasiness in conse- 
quence of Anna's illness, which you must have heard of. I 
wish I had her under Mr. Stanley's care, who is an excellent 
physician. In return for the account which you have given 
me of your interesting excursion, I have nothing to tell you 
but of a singular expedition of ours, just before my illness, 
to see some lakes on the summit of a very high mountain, 
about nine miles from hence. We went in common laborers' 
cars, a kind of vehicle you have never seen ; it is used instead 
of waggons in farming business. It jolts most gloriously, but 
no carriage with springs could stand the rugged mountain 
pass. Nothing could be more wild than the scenery the 
whole way. The progress of my courage during the journey 
was curious enough. You know I am never very brave. 
We had to pass on roads by the side of steep precipices, the 
road scarcely wide enough to admit the whole of the cars. 
The first precipice we came to we got out and walked ; the 
second I nearly screamed ; the third I contented myself with 
shutting my eyes ; and the fourth I succeeded in suppressing 
every external symptom of fear. 

We suffered much from heat ; the violent motion of these 
clumsy vehicles made us feel very differently from the men, 
who were on horseback, and who experienced the keen effects 
of mountain air. The first lake, by the side of which we 
dined, itself on a high mountain, lies embosomed in others 


more lofty. On one side a mountain rises so extremely 
perpendicular, that the sheep which graze on the sides in 
windy weather are frequently blown down and killed. Calm 
as it was the day we were there, I could not view them 
without shuddering. The perpendicular mountain is partly 
green, partly rocky, and in the interstices of the rocks the 
most beautiful crystal is found, pure and perfect; it cuts 
glass like diamonds. I have a great quantity for my grotto ; 
a naturalist would give anything for some of my specimens. 
Our suite, which beside five or six of the men-servants, 
consisted of about thirty of Sir Thomas' tenants, who chose 
to accompany us ; and the gentlemen looked very picturesque. 
Amongst the wild scenery we gathered like a snowball ; 
many of the mountaineers followed. We might have passed 
for a group of banditti ; and perhaps many of them were 
bad enough, although not one of them would harm the wife 
of Sir Thomas ; the greatest ruffians in the country, who are 
by him supported in idle and wasteful profusion, being all 
his well- wishers, and when he is ill, praying for him in their 

On our approach to Theckincor wood we were greeted 
by a large bonfire, as a symptom of cordial good-will. It 
was evening, and the effect good. . . . 

Now that I am well, I intend to take care of my health, 
by taking proper exercise and avoiding cold. I am taking 
" muriated tincture of iron," which is a good tonic, far better 
than " bark" for those whose lungs are at all delicate. It 
agrees with me well, and gives me a good appetite. The 
children are well. William dear little fellow stayed in 
the room whilst we were reading prayers this morning, 
without making the slightest noise, listened to the Bible as 
attentively as if he had understood it. In the summer when 
his sister would kill flies, he used to tell her that God would 
not love her if she were cruel. He has lately taken it into 


his head to hear her repeat her prayers himself, and clasps 
her little hands with a truly fraternal air. He is the merriest 
little fellow and the happiest in the world; his sister is very 
fond of him, although she sometimes treats him rather 
roughly. The work of gilding goes on here as well as ever, 
nothing can exceed our industry. The whole of these long 
evenings one of our party reads aloud, and I spend my time 
exactly to my taste. 

It is so late that I must say adieu. I will only observe 
how deeply the view of Yalding Vicarage interests me ; badly 
as it is drawn, it is very like, and I love it. Give my love to 
my dear cousins, and believe me, 

Your very affectionate niece, 


Newtown, April 30. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I am glad to find that you will 
acknowledge my claim to hear from you oftener than I write. 
I have before told you that I consider a letter addressed to one 
as addressed to all, and 1 do hope that you will not each wait 
for the ceremony of an answer. It is very long since I have 
heard from Sarah. I almost fear that she does not intend to 
write again. I am at present engaged in occupations of 
various kinds. I did not tell you so by way of excusing my 
own silence. The excuse of want of time is one of the most 
paltry and unpardonable that can be pleaded as any apology 
for anything like neglect. Never would it prevent me from 
writing to those I love. But I confess the most extreme 
pain often oppresses my mind when I compare the letters 
we send (the only means of intercourse which we enjoy) 
with those which are written during a short interval of 
separation, and which anticipate a speedy reunion. Ours, on 
the contrary, speak of hope continually deferred. It is well 


we have this consolation, that although we have been so 
often disappointed (provided we all live) we must meet at 
last, and that meeting will indeed be a very happy one. By 
me it is anticipated with such an eagerness of anxiety, that by 
the mere force of fancy, I could persuade myself that the 
time is actually arrived, and I almost dread the recurrence of 
those dreams from which it costs me so much pain to awaken, 
and the dread of being led into them often prevents me from 

I had always a disposition to castle -building, but now the 
disposition is often indulged in to excess, and present gratifi- 
cation overlooked in contemplating the future. But I have 
many occupations, some that are extremely unpleasant to me ; 
conferences on business, where I cannot follow the plan 
which I know to be the best. I have therefore to content 
myself with some degree of authority to act as I should wish 
in part at least. Instead of making a lease on reasonable 
terms, I am glad if I can induce Sir Thomas to let farms at 
quite a low rate for one year only, and that I could not have 
obtained had not my influence been increased lately. I make 
it a point not to oppose his schemes of covenant ; I only 
observe to him that as he has such a dislike to giving leases, 
I think it better to wait till his health is sufficiently established 
to enable him to attend to the mention of covenant, and that 
in the meantime to come to some terms for one year with 
tenants. I think that I deserve credit for managing so well 
with a man who, until now, never listened to advice from 
any human being. To-morrow I am anticipating the horror of 
a conference with sixteen different men, who come to take 
an estate of sixteen hundred acres, which begins about a mile 
from Clonmel, and that very estate has paid nothing these 
three years, because Sir Thomas went to law with the middle- 
man about covenants. So to-morrow I must be stuck up 
with Mr. Hubbard in the great hall, to listen to the proposals 

VOL. I. D 


of these people, who paid their rents to the middle-man, 
though he evaded paying his to Sir Thomas ; he has now 
been ejected, but we have good reason to suspect that he has 
made over his property to his brother, and Sir Thomas won't 
recover the debt. I have long thought that the law is 
made for the protection of rogues, and every day seems to 
prove it more and more. Here a scoundrel who has been 
running in debt for three years, will pay it by going to jail 
for three months. I am glad to " fly," the moment I am 
released from business, to pursuits which are congenial to my 
taste. At present I must lay aside my drawing to decorate 
the grotto with shells. As it was only built last year we did 
not consider the walls dry enough for the reception of shells 
until now. The two girls and Johnstone mounted on a 
scaffold work at the roof; Mrs. Stanley and I labour at the 
sides, deep in cement, and trowel in hand. I assure you it will 
be very beautiful ; the finest crystals we mix with the shells. 
The crystal is so fine as to cut glass like diamond, and the 
effect with the shells will be very beautiful. I am also 
making great improvements in the garden and pond ground. 
Here things amuse me, as they afford me room for the 
exercise of taste. I have two flower-gardens, and in one I 
have sown every seed myself, and the other is but just made, 
and is situated in a shrubbery. Sarah, as a florist, will 
sympathise with me when I tell her that eleven of my best 
hyacinths, Dutch roots, for which I paid very dear, were cut 
down in the night. It was done merely to vex me, because 
there was to be a horticultural show two days after. I knew 
that theft could not have been committed by a gardener, 
because he would have taken roots and all. I therefore feel 
convinced that the odious . . . took the hyacinths, to 
prevent my gardener from gaining the medal. However, 
he had still left some of the best, perhaps because he is not 
very conversant in flowers ; but I foolishly, in my transport 


of indignation, flew to Sir Thomas with my tale, and lie 
begged me not to go to the show, or allow Quin to take 
anything there, because, he said, the show was the cause of 
the robbery. So poor Quin lost two medals because his lady 
could not keep her own counsel, for he had a finer brace of 
cucumbers than any at the show ; and this was, I am told, a 
most magnificent display of flowers and vegetables. The 
flowers were disposed with great taste, the whole country 

I feel greatly vexed I was not there; this was the first 
show we have had, and it would have pleased me extremely. 
I have still one most magnificent hyacinth, the admiration of 
all who see it, and the tears of mortification rolled down the 
eheeks of the man who takes care of my flowers, when I 
told him that I could not go ; poor fellow, how I pitied his 
mortification ! What a long story about flowers ! But the 
incident is so recent that I could not help descanting on it. 
My two dear children are well. William, the best little 
fellow in the whole world, doating on his sister, and doing 
everything that he is desired. 

Give my love to my dear aunt Warde and my cousins, 
and believe me, my dear Margaret, 

Your affectionate cousin, 


MY DEAR AUNT Although I cannot boast the same gaiety of 
temper which I once possessed yet my spirits are generally 
cheerful and not so easily depressed as they once were. I take 
a great deal of exercise now, and I have derived great benefit 
from doing so, we walk several miles every day and I have 
already acquired increase of color and appetite, you cannot 
conceive how very irksome I have found this change in my 
habits and mode of life, formerly never walking but for half 
an hour in the garden and shrubbery, it seemed to me at first 



an unpleasant and unnatural exertion to walk to the lodge ; 
when I awoke in the morning the expectation of passing 
beyond the gates actually depressed me. I anticipated with 
dread the prospect of leaving my usual occupations to take 
a long cold walk, and nothing but the conviction of the 
absolute necessity of doing it would have induced me to 
make an exertion far more necessary to Mrs. Stanley than 
to me, but we find our indolence gradually yield as the 
exertion becomes habitual, and I no longer dread the hour 
of walking. I have a great deal of business to transact, my 
table is covered with letters and petitions, and it is sometimes 
in my power to do an act of kindness to the tenants, but 
more frequently the necessity of acting with justice compels 
me to a rejection which must appear hard to these poor 
people. Yesterday I obtained a very important favour from 
Sir Thomas for some men against whom he had obtained a 
decree ; when I went down to tell them that he would not 
proceed on the decree, how can I describe their gratitude, 
they all fell down on their knees and implored blessings for 
me and mine. I had a long message to deliver to them, but 
their lively expression of thankfulness affected me so much 
that I was obliged to turn away and leave them, and indeed 
the recollection of their happy countenances is more than 
necessary to reconcile me to myself under circumstances 
when a sense of justice prevents me from interfering even 
where the case appears hard, and often my heart bleeds 
when I am obliged to return a stern answer to an imploring 
letter, but were I to interfere with the agent in collecting 
rents and prevent him from distraining, my interference 
would be claimed as a precedent to others and serve as an 
excuse for deficiency on his part. I am anxious to hear from 

Aunt Warde that a remittance I sent has been received. 

I think that there has been time for an answer. Just as 
I had written so far, a letter from her was brought me with 


a few lines from Margaret, who it appears blames me for a 
failure in our correspondence, but I consider a letter when 
addressed to one of you as addressed to all, and I conceive 
that I may request to hear from Sarah and Margaret oftener 
than I can write myself, because I have so many letters to 
write on business, and that in your family there are three to 
write to me, and separated as I am from the beloved com- 
panions of my early life, I may claim the consolation of hear- 
ing from them frequently. Margaret speaks of my mother's 
being reunited to me, but seems to express a doubt of OUT 
meeting, believe me, we shall meet ; they little know me 
who suppose that anything could have power to detain me 
from my family when once I am at liberty to rejoin them; 
what power could detach me from the brilliant dreams of 
happiness, the world of fancy, in which I have long lived, too 
long perhaps, the indulgence of imagination having almost 
deprived me of the faculty of seeing objects as they really 
are and rendered the most trifling uneasiness a source of 
real unhappiness to me. Mrs. Stanley's lectures on the 
subject have almost terrified me into a dread of mental 
derangement, and I have applied myself sedulously to correct 
the weakness that seems so dangerous. We have been lately 
reading a work of which the interest is powerful beyond all 
expression, it is called " Melmoth ;" if you have not read it 
pray do ; the first volume and part of the second disappointed 
me very much, you will not like it so far, but read on, the 
interest deepens at every page, its effect on me, fantastic and 
imaginary as I have become, was, like everything belonging 
to me, extreme. I fainted more than once, and many a 
lecture have I received from Mrs. Stanley, she was the 
reader and she immediately threw aside the book and de- 
clared that she would never read to me again ; it was with 
some difficulty that I prevailed on her to go on, and you 
may feel assured that I have sustained many a shaft of 


ridicule since, which I believe to be the best method of 
curing a mental weakness such as mine. My health was 
never better than it is now, therefore this ludicrous fainting 
cannot be a physical evil. I agree with you in your senti- 
ments of the advantage of giving to my children a religious 
education, and we have begun early ; it is the practice of 
our little family to read a well selected chapter from the 
Bible every morning ; William and Catherine are always 
present, and the silence that they are constrained to observe, 
the interruption to their amusement gives them an idea of 
the attention, the reverence which the Book of Revelation 
demands, and although they cannot understand what they 
hear still the practice becomes impressed on their mind, and 
conveys the idea of religious observance, an impression that 
will never be eradicated in after life. William gave a proof 
of attention one Sunday morning when we were reading 
prayers that surprised me, he had been accustomed to repeat 
the Lord's Prayer as it is found in the Testament, and on 
hearing us read it with the addition, he treasured it in his 
mind, and when we had concluded prayers he said, you say 
" power and glory," why don't I say it too? and he has since 
repeated it as we do. Sir Thomas still continues as ill as 
when I wrote last, he is also very weak and his weakness 
daily increases. I would not willingly conclude so early but 
for the necessity I am under of despatching the messenger 
who takes this to the post. Adieu, my dear Aunt, with 
every fervent prayer and sweet hope of our reunion. 
Believe me your most affectionate niece, 


Has any change taken place among those with whom I 
was once acquainted. I should like to have some anecdotes 
of Kent. I am transacting business very well, but I cannot 
induce Sir Thomas to set lands, and you know I cannot do 
it without his consent. 


"It is remarkable that so young and inexperienced a 
woman as was Lady Osborne, unaccustomed even to the 
associations of a life of landed proprietorship, should have 
taken in at a glance the requirements of an estate, and this 
she seems to have done from the first moment such considera- 
tions were brought under her notice." 

Newtown, February 11. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I am sorry you should labour under a 
false impression with regard to the state of my health. I 
do assure you that I was never better in my life ; perfectly 
strong and well. As to the fainting, I had always a tendency 
to do so whenever any circumstance operated on my fancy ; 
even in my most robust days the description of an operation 
or of a painful lingering disease, has several times produced 
that effect in my most robust health, before I was married, 
before I had begun to fret and complain. 

To cast up rents and acres, to pace up and down the room 
with vexation because Sir Thomas will not set Garren- 
millan, Ballinagigla, Ballinasisla, Ballinvaluna, Carigaready, 
Caherbrack, Inchindrisla, and twenty other unpronounceable 
names of farms, for which tenants are every day proposing, 
good solvent tenants, who by way of security, will pay a 
year's rent in advance; and I have before me proposals 
which show that even at the present low rent of land, Sir 
Thomas' estate would produce to-morrow, setting at the 
tenants' own terms . . . a-year; but, with his usual 
obstinacy, Sir Thomas will not set his lands for money. He 
insists on various covenants being performed, that is, on being 
paid in young horses, cows, and pigs. Now, these farmers 
who are ready to pay a rent according to the time, will have 
nothing to do with bargains ; plainly stating that it is only 
those who intend to cheat who will enter into such terms, 
and so it is. Sir Thomas knows that if those bargains were 


fairly fulfilled, that he would be sufficiently well paid ; but 
they never are. He is cheated on every side, and I have 
now the grief of being compelled to decline the best and 
most advantageous proposals because I cannot cure Sir 
Thomas of his idle speculations. Whenever he at all revives 
he throws me into a fever by his eccentric manner of deter- 
mining; indeed, I feel that I am very criminal in suffering 
these things to vex me so much. Certain as I am that my son 
will have such a noble fortune, am I to live in a perpetual 
state of excitement because I cannot immediately make it 
what I wish? I make daily resolutions, but am always 
tempted to break them. Mrs. . . . who has constantly 
censured my extreme eagerness where acres are concerned, 
and my incessant plodding over proposals and calculations, 
hoped that I was cured of this practice by an alarm which I 
felt for my dear William, one night about a fortnight ago, 
when he was indisposed. The excellent health which my 
children enjoy induces me to feel alarmed at the slightest 
alteration, and the anguish that I endured that night seemed 
to me like a warning from Heaven not again to be disturbed 
by paltry considerations, and I have behaved much better 
since ; thankfully acknowledging that in the health of my 
dear children I possess a most ample compensation for a mere 
temporary disappointment. Still 1 cannot but feel vexed 
when called upon to pay tithes and taxes for thousands of 
acres of fine land suffered to lie waste, or to be occupied by 
thieves and rogues. Then again, I take pen and ink, and 
calculate what each farm will produce, add up the whole, and 
joy in the consideration of seeing my son so rich, and thinking 
how good he will be, and how happy he will make all around 
him. May God grant that in pursuit of the means, I may 
not lose sight of the end which I hope always to have in 
view to make him one of the best of men. 

My eagerness to rejoin my friends hourly increases; my 


mind's eye pictures them incessantly. O how happy I shall 
be when introducing my darlings to you all, and how 
delightfully will life glide on when we are reunited; the 
time I feel cannot be far distant. I must not think of it too 

I beg you will always give me any piece of intelligence 
which may occur amongst my old acquaintances. I am sorry 
for poor Mrs. Sidney. Give my love to your dear circle. 
Believe me, 

Your most affectionate niece, 


Sir Thomas had been better for the last fortnight, but I 
fear that he is getting another attack of violent pain. I 
again repeat I was never better in my life. 

Newtown, April 23, 1820. 

Mr DEAR SARAH, It is not possible for me to express 
half the delight it gives me to find that you all look forward 
with happiness to my return amongst you ; yet I can scarcely 
believe that you are fully conscious of all the fervency of 
wish with which I myself anticipate the return, of the depth 
of interest with which my recollections revert to the most 
trivial interest that we have shared together, and how my 
heart swells at the remembrance of every object connected 
with early association. The violets you sent me are carefully 
treasured, but they are very few. I am sorry Margaret did 
not enclose some in her letter ; if they are not gone, let me 
have more when you next write, and as soon as roses are 
blown, send me some of their leaves. I think there is some- 
thing very affecting in those sweet memorials of place and 
circumstances endeared to us by feelings of happiness such 
as mine was once, and such as I hope they will be again. 
There is something in the smell and touch of flowers culled 


on the spot connected with every delightful sensation of 
youthful enjoyment, and by the hands of those we fondly 
love, and who have shared all those enjoyments with us. I 
wish you knew how continually the scenery of Yalding 
presents itself to my fancy, in all its rural beauty, embellished 
by all that memory can give of what the heart loves to dwell 
upon. Our walks before breakfast to gather violets, and in 
the evening to look at the torrent of the mill ; even the stile 
that used to appear to me so tremendous, and on which, to 
the amusement of Richard, I once paused so long, doubtful 
whether to recede or advance ; even the tombstone near the 
church where all the Cory dons and Strephons used to wait 
for the purpose of catching a smile from their belles ; and 
the church itself, with all the soothing and affecting emotions 
a village church in England only can present, all dwell in 
my memory. Every minutise passed by with indifference, 
scarcely noted at the time, recurs to me now with a charm 
infinitely more delightful than any that can be experienced 
by the most classical visitor of Greece and Rome. My 
happiest days were all spent at Yalding. How delighted I 
used to feel in going thither, how happy when we met at 
Maidstone, and proceeded on together. And then that 
exquisite landscape, rendered doubly interesting by the 
happy feelings with which it was viewed, at Teston, Lord 
Barham's beautiful seat, with its park, the ornamental mill 
erected in the form of a temple, the soft windings of the 
river, flowing through the rich vale. I should be so happy 
to sketch that scene. 

All that is beautiful and grand in nature, in whatever part 
of the globe we find ourselves placed, can be admired, and 
for some time enjoyed, but the scenery we love, that which 
satisfies the heart and the fancy, must be that by which our 
taste was first formed ; that which we have admired and 
loved, together with those whose taste was forming at the 
same time with our own. 


Margaret tells me that when I dwell on the past, I forget 
most probably all the circumstances that conspired to lessen 
enjoyment. I am certain I was never conscious of any 
when we were together. She may remember how I used to 
boast of feelings of happiness, and wonder that any one 
could find fault with this world, and that she used to say I 
talked thus by way of assuring her that it was not necessary 
for her to put me out of pain, like the half-crushed snail she 
humanely turned back to kill by way of shortening his 
sufferings. I think I need never reproach myself for any 
feeling of discontent breaking in on my hours of enjoyment. 
I believe my disposition is not one that would cull the night- 
shade rather than the rose ; and I never could understand 
the propensity of some people to poison all the sweets of 
existence, whilst they dwell with gloomy satisfaction on all 
that is and has been most unfavorable in their passage 
through life. Are we certain that they who have been most 
disposed to complaint and lamentation through time, will 
find themselves qualified to enter at once into perfect felicity 
through eternity? We are not expressly told that all 
deficiencies will be made up to us, and it is possible that this 
world may be a probation of something beyond the perfor- 
mance of duty. We are not certain that the neglecting to 
improve our mental energies may not, to a certain degree, 
be criminal. Theory like this might be serviceable to us 
were we always to reduce it to practice. I should have 
thought this before I suffered my spirits to sink so low as 
they sometimes have done, but then it was in the absence of 
enjoyment. I never sought to destroy that which I possessed 
by gloomy anticipation of evil or imaginary inconvenience ; 
and now that I have acquired an object of immediate interest, 
a friend to whom I am very dear, and who is very dear to 
me ; now when I no longer walk alone in the world (the Irish 
world I mean), I do hope I have bade farewell to depression 


at least to that species of it which is independent of positive 
suffering, which owes its origin to a vivid imagination rather 
than the decrees of fate. I cannot express to you how much 
I long to present that friend to you, and if you are not 
fascinated by her, I shall be decidedly disappointed. She 
would gain your heart at once by her talent for poetry, which 
she possesses almost to the facility of an improvisatore. I 
have seen her write verses on the moment, with scarcely an 
instant's consideration. I will transcribe some that she has 
addressed to me, and also a little translation from Florian, 
which I think very pretty trifles. I have also some blank 
verse of hers which I will give you some other time. I want 
to bring you acquainted with her. 


If ever far from her most dear, 

Each lingering hour was told, 
If ever thy recording tear 

Accused a love grown cold, 
Still think thy lot, with mine compared, 

Had treasured joys hi store ; 
To thee the angel Hope was spared ! 

To me she comes no more ! 

I loved and gained a heart as true ; 

One heart was all mine own. 
But hours of bliss are short and few 

If hliss on earth be known. 
Ah ! likened to some fragile rose, 

By fluttering gales displayed, 
The day that sees the bud unclose, 

Beholds its beauty fade. 

The object of my fondest love 

No lavished grace could save. 
Her youth, her bloom, where are they now ? 

They gild a timeless grave. 
And soon within this darkened bed 

I'll seek what life denies. 
Thus where the elm has bowed its head, 

The faithful ivy dies. 


These lines were written in a moment, after a conversation 
we had held together, and addressed to me. 

As the dew, dropping south, breathing over the hlossom, 
Expands the young hope winter cradled unblown, 

So thine was the life-breath to wake in my bosom, 
Affection for ever and fondly thine own. 

The beam of my soul prematurely was shaded, 
The may-bloom of life is a dream of the past ; 

Yet one bud of its morning may linger unfaded 
Oh, say wilt thou gather and cherish the last ? 

You must give me your opinion of these lines. The next 
I am going to transcribe you will think far too complimentary. 
I know they are, but I am certain that she believes what she 
writes. I have hitherto had wit enough to keep all my 
faults behind the curtain ; she has, as yet, only seen me in a 
favorable point of view. 

TO C. O. 

Those virtues angels may have loved to know, 
Found in a reckless world no fitting shrine, . 

No kindred spirit caught thy soul's rich glow, 
No heart responsive beat the pulse of thine. 

Yet tho' of many a gazing eye secure, 
The cherished rose may grace her sunward bower. 

Oh ! fall the dews of Heaven less bright or pure, 
To gem the bosom of the desert flower. 

Now, what these virtues are it would be very difficult to dis- 
cover. Mine are certainly all passive, and if anybody wanted 
to praise me, I think they must do it by negatives. Even 
then I believe I have very little merit, since no temptation 
falls in my way ; and simply to bear and forbear requires 
nothing beyond mere physical good humour, and from selfish 
motives I should still do the same, because to act otherwise 
would affect nobody's peace but my own. 

I think, my dear Sarah, it would be delightful if (distant 


as we are from each other) we yet pursued some occupation 
in common. I intend to translate Madame Cottin's " Eliza- 
beth" into English. You know we used to consider it as an 
effort unworthy to employ our time in what is so easy to 
translate from the French. Yet it is not so easy as we 
imagine to make an elegant translation ; such a one as might 
pass for an original. Otherwise why do we see so many 
indifferenfly executed daily pass through the hands of the 
public, and tolerated by it. The short periods, trite sentences, 
and perpetual 'invocations in which French works abound, 
appear puerile when they acquire an English gait. The 
merit of French style consists in some very happy expressions, 
which cannot be rendered into English except by a very 
diffuse translator. Our language is more diffuse than the 
French, and the common error of translators is to confine 
themselves too much to the words of the original. Tell me 
if you are disposed to adopt my plan, or any part of it. I 
know I should like to pursue the same object with you. I 
find more interest in improving myself now I have met with 
a friend to whom my efforts are grateful. She admires my 
drawing very much, and on that subject I do not refuse to 
receive praise, because in the style I have adopted I do 
conceive my unwearied perseverance has been rewarded with 
success. I wish you could see my large piece, I am really 
vain of it. As I draw Mrs. Stanley reads to me; she reads 
very well, and the tone of her voice is delightful. She stands 
in great fear of Margaret on account of her observations on 
the danger of making idols, and intends to write something 
propitiatory to her when I answer her letter. 

I wish I could hear Richard preach, I am sure he acquits 
himself well, does he use action in the pulpit ? I like a little, 
and am glad to hear he writes his own sermons. Your 
account of the family occupations is something different 
from that which I had imagined. Aunt Warde in yours 


had exchanged the Latin grammar for the peerage, and 
George instead of saying his lessons was reading the papers, 
Margaret with her baby clothes, Ramsay and his dogs were 
all as I remembered them to be. I wonder my mother can 
leave you all, in her place, I could not, yet I believe she finds 
it necessary ; tell her I have received her letter which I will 
answer immediately, and that I will do all that she wishes. 

. . I hope all will turn out favorably, that Anna and 
Strother may improve themselves, that her health may not 
suffer, and that we may all meet soon. . . 

What delightful castles in the air I am always building ! 
I am not certain whether I shall live at Tunbridge Wells or 
whether I shall take a small place in the country, I mean a 
place with very little land. I remember hearing a descrip- 
tion of an old castle near you, castle I think it is called, 

to whom does that belong? Is it set, or is it inhabited by 
the owner. Have you ever fixed on an abode for me ; we 
cannot help forming plans whether it be right or wrong to 
do so. I always avert my eyes from the thorny path in the 
foreground and turn them towards the bright landscape to 
which the path will lead. Why am I obliged to argue thus ? 
Why must I even for the sake of others anticipate that which 
were my own alone in question I could not bear to look on. 
Amongst other advantages to be derived from Mrs. Stanley, 
she induces me to take exercise, whilst I have a companion 
I have no objection to walking, and I used only to stroll 
about the pleasure grounds, never extending my walks to 
change the air. Adieu, my dear Sarah, with love to all, 
believe me. 

Your very affectionate cousin, 


I hope Aunt Warde will write sometimes the children 
are hanging about me, I scarcely know what I have written. 



I DO confess, my dear Margaret, that I have been wrong 
very, very wrong yet not so bad not so ungrateful as 
you suppose me to be. If you could know how much I 
have suffered from my separation from all I loved how 
much my spirits have suffered, and at times my health, you 
would not believe that time or circumstances could effect 
any change in the warm attachment I must ever feel for the 
companions of my earlier years : they are never absent from 
my thoughts or from my conversation whenever I am happy 
enough to obtain a listener. My new friend is the only 
person I have met with who would listen with interest to the 
animated description it is my delight to draw of days of 
former happiness ; that I have never been so happy since is 
only too true, and I cannot help hoping that I may one day 
be as happy again. If you knew, in all my sketches of 
former happiness, with what interest I can dwell on every 
circumstance. I think I see dear Aunt Warde sitting by the 
fire in the happy parlour we used so often to occupy 
together: George's Latin lesson before her, Sarah and 
Tasso tete-a-tete, Ramsay and his Greek, you at the instru- 
ment, yet often turning round to talk to us. Oh ! Margaret, 
you think I am become indifferent to those whom I once 
loved; and I do most solemnly assure you that I would 
purchase, by months of suffering, by months of acute pain, 
the delight of spending one week at Yalding. I observed 
the other day to Mrs. Stanley that there was a time when I 
used to consider your mode of spending Sunday somewhat 
too serious for me, and that now I would sacrifice one of 
my hands to spend every Sunday in the year, and Sunday 
only with you. Can you believe then if all these ideas have 
been and are the constant feelings of my heart, that I talk of 
them when I have no one else to speak to, even to Johnstone ? 
Will you believe that my silence proceeds from anything 


rather than neglect or forgetfulness ? Yes; I acknowledge 
myself in the wrong, and I promise you shall never complain 
of me again on that account. The only excuse I can offer 
for myself is, that the duty I have always imposed on my 
pen of making the best of my lot, and suppressing every 
expression of complaint, has occasioned a feeling of restraint 
which rendered me averse from writing ; for the word duty, 
in the beginning of the sentence, I should have substituted 
pride. My pride was concerned in vindicating the course 
I had chalked out for myself; and I could not bear to 
acknowledge that I had mistaken the means of happiness ; 
yet, but for this fatal separation, how happy I might have 
been ! Could we have met often I should be content. Yet 
I think I could hardly be expected to have carried my 
reflections on the human mind so far as to expect obstinate 
prejudice when I deserved nothing but indulgence. I need 
say no more on that head ; yet I believe I may venture to 
assert that the effect on my character has been in some 
respects beneficial. I think I now fully understand in what 
happiness only consists. I think, I am sure it must be found 
in the consciousness of making and contributing to the 
happiness of those around us. I cannot understand how 
any human being will choose for himself a solitary gratifica- 
tion. His must be a selfish character who delights to live 
alone ; and selfishness is, of all the diseases of the mind, the 
one I detest most. Yet it is better such a being should live 
for himself. To be the constant companion of one who 
never resigns his will for the pleasure of gratifying others, 
is indeed a dreadful species of slavery one which I would 
never voluntarily submit to. 

How little I have hitherto reflected. If ever I have for- 
merly appeared amiable, I must have acted from impulse. I 
I hope- 1 shall in future act on principle. 

I cannot leave this subject, trifling as my observations may 



appear to be, without rendering you the justice you deserve. 
I well remember, in all our schemes of gratification, you and 
Sarah but you, particularly, never seemed to consider your 
own individual inclination ever ready to sacrifice your own 
wishes to those of your friends ; and it was that perfect for- 
getfulness of self, on your parts, which made us so happy 
together. In such society,! don't think I ever could have been 
selfish ; yet if I were, I am now cured for ever. When we 
have suffered by a fault in others, I do believe it is the last we 
shall ever fall into ourselves. I have given you a sermon, but 
you must not be surprised to find me sometimes a little grave, 
my gaiety is much repressed and chilled by absolute disuse ; 
in your society I hope it shall glow once more. There is 
this difference, dear Margaret, between our intercourse with 
the companions of our earlier years and any connexion which 
we may afterwards form; there is never the same perfect 
understanding, the same unrestrained confidence, in the later 
connection that there will be among those whose sentiments 
and opinions have strengthened under the same influence 
with our own ; for instance, I may be cheerful and satisfied 
with others, but that happy heartfelt gaiety can never be 
felt by me until I resume my place in my own dear circle. 
May God grant that when I do return, I shall not find one 
dear object missing; that would indeed be a trial. I would 
not anticipate for the universe the loss of one link in our 
chain of happiness. You tell me that I am sure of being 
received with undiminished affection; may it prove so ! Yet 
I think if it should not, I shall soon recover my former place 
in the regards of my friends. I am unchanged in everything ; 
at least I do hope any change that may have taken place will 
not speak against me. So far am I from experiencing any 
diminution of affection in my own heart, that I feel my 
attachment to my friends increased tenfold by the discovery 
I have made of the pain of living without them. I do not 


think our children a sufficient compensation for the loss of 
friends ; believe me who have tried. We must have companions 
who understand us before we can feel what it is to be happy. 
I am sure you will think I am become very romantic; is it 
to be wondered at that a life of total seclusion should exalt 
the feelings beyond their natural tone, and that feelings long 
pent-up in the mind should be strong in their expression at 
last. It was very late when I received your letter; I was 
writing to my mother, and I am sitting up, although it is 
past one o'clock, until I have opened my whole heart to you. 
We are near the period when violets begin to appear ; if 
any are in bloom when you answer my letter, pray send 
them to me. How I shall cherish violets which grow in 
Yalding ! If you do not write immediately I shall apprehend 
that some feeling of resentment is cherished towards me, and 
I assure you I cannot now bear to part with one portion of 
the hope which points towards the bright future I have 
sketched for myself; I cannot bear to think the fabric less 
stable in foundation. Pray write directly, and tell me that 
you believe me to be 

The most affectionate of cousins and friends, 


" It is a trait of the Irish character, quite unworthy of their, 
in the main, very amiable and interesting nature, that a person 
will render himself more popular with the multitude by 
shutting his eyes to imposition and downright cheating, than 
by clearly-intended benefactions. This may be owing to the 
advantage in the one case being ceaseless, and in the latter 
terminable. It was quite a saying near Newtown " Sir 
Thomas was a rale gintleman ; if he saw a man driving off 
his colts along the road (meaning stealing them) he would 
look the other way." Hence, while, as the following letter 


will show, the prospect of his death made them draw more 
largely than ever upon this curious view of generosity, to 
the injury of his rightful heirs, his name was what is styled 
1 up through the whole country.' " 

MY DEAR MARGARET, You have heard through my mother 
of Sir Thomas' illness; 1 am grieved to say he is much 
worse. He is attended by an excellent surgeon, who lives 
fifteen miles from us ; he comes here in the evening, and stays 
at night. His case is entirely surgical, not to be relieved by 
medicine. I can see that Dr. Hemphill considers him in 
extreme danger, but not hopeless. Were you to see his 
calmness, the equanimity of his temper, it would excite 
interest. Dr. Hemphill says he never saw so gentle a 

I never knew until now I could feel so much. I am 
harassed in many ways. I have been obliged to apply to a 
magistrate for assistance to protect the property on different 
farms, and he has established policemen for that purpose, as 
the stewards and agents, anticipating the event of Sir 
Thomas' illness, had begun to plunder the stock, selling them, 
and also sending large droves down to a great tract of land 
by the sea-side, which is ours, where they think they will be 
less liable to detection. The steps I have taken was by the 
advice of gentlemen who feel for my unprotected situation, 
particularly the Rialls and Lord Donoughmore, who has been 
extremely attentive, calls frequently, and writes very often 
to make enquiries and offers of service. I have sent the 
gardener, who is an honest man, to take an inventory of the 
stock of cattle; he is accompanied by the butler. It will 
take them several days to perform this task. It is hard for 
me to have this to do when my feelings are so greatly 
occupied, yet the exertion may be useful. 

1 have scarcely a minute to spare. Many gentlemen call 


to make enquiries, and to offer their advice and assistance. 
I wrote to Mr. Christmas to tell him of Sir Thomas' danger, 
and Mr. Jephson wrote also to entreat him to come down, as 
I ought to have a friend with me. I expect him every hour. 
Mrs. Greeny, my nurse, attends him, and Sir Thomas finds 
her a great comfort, he requires such attention by night. 
We have two beds in the room, in which he lies alternately, 
and the change refreshes him. The hair-dresser is shaving 
him, and I am called to support his head. 

Adieu, my dear Margaret. I say nothing of my present 
sensations, but I believe few situations can be more painful. 
I am, my dear Margaret, 

Your very affectionate cousin, 


How anxiously I have looked for our meeting ; but when 
I think of the circumstance under which I shall probably 
meet you, my heart bleeds. I have thought on the proba- 
bility of such an event, but now to consider it so near is 

" On one occasion when Sir Philip Crampton paid Sir 
Thomas Osborne a consultation visit, he spoke afterwards of 
the surprise it awoke in him to see so young and beautiful 
a woman as Lady Osborne, dressed as she was, in white, 
standing by the side of the bed of his patient, and then to 
find she was his wife." 

Newtown, May 28. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I think it likely that you have read the 
long, unconnected letter which 1 addressed to my mother, 
supposing her to have reached Burlington House. I believe 
she had hardly time to arrive there when I wrote, but my 
mind was in that state of excitement which precludes the 


power of reflection. I have been so harassed, first by 
anxiety, and next by unwarrantable importunity, that I have 
become thinner than ever, although my health is excellent, 
my appetite good, and my sleep profound. 

I will now give you a more regular account of all that 
has passed, that you may become acquainted with the strange 
dilemma in which I am placed. Mr. C., Mr. . . . and 
myself, are appointed in Sir Thomas' will, guardians, execu- 
tors, and trustees of the persons and property of my children. 
The gentlemen declared that their health and other circum- 
stances induced them to refuse the trust, and employed 
every argument to persuade me to throw the affairs of 
my children into Chancery, a measure to which I feel the 
most decided aversion. First, from the conviction that the 
estate, being managed by attornies, would be involved in 
interminable law-suits ; and secondly, because Mr. . . . 
acknowledged that the expense of managing land in Chancery 
is enormous. Feeling and thinking thus I conceived it my 
duty to oppose their advice, which I knew was only prompted 
by a selfish regard for their own convenience, which is 
promoted by shaking off all responsibility for themselves. 
My firmness surprised them, and they have immediately 
proceeded to the use of hostile measures. They are framing 
a petition to the Chancellor to take the estates of my William 
under his care. I have on my part employed the most 
eminent lawyer in Ireland, Sergeant Lefroy, to fight my 
battle, at the same time stating to him, at large, my motive 
for acting as I have done, and declaring it to be my intention 
to act under the protection, and subject to the audit of 
Chancery ; but that my local information respecting the nature 
and value of the different estates, my affection for my children, 
and respect for my husband's memory, whose dying persuasion 
I knew it to be that I would' never delegate to others the 
trust he had bequeathed me, have determined me to employ 


every legal means in defence of my right to act as the guardian 
of my children's persons and property. 

The cause will now be tried. I may have to appear before 
the Lord Chancellor to prove my competency. 

Pray for my success, my dearest aunt ; you little know 
how important it is. Can it be supposed that any set of 
uninterested men will take the deep, heartfelt interest in 
setting the lands of my William, and in managing every- 
thing to the best advantage, that an anxious parent will. 
Can it be supposed that an interested attorney will not make 
every little transaction the subject of a law-suit. 

Short, indeed, from my brilliant expectations for William 
would be an estate which had been employed during his 
minority in the payment of different law-officers. Now, if 
I act under the Lord Chancellor, the agent will be the only 
person to be paid. Don't you think that I have been most 
unjustly, most improperly treated. 

Poor Sir Thomas little thought that the first act which 
would be attempted on his death, would be an act of hostility 
against the wife he so highly esteemed. His last look was 
one of kindness, of the most tender affection to me ; it dwells 
on my memory with a feeling of soothing sadness. Hia 
eyes retained all their expression, and he had very fine eyes. 
His strength of mind was great ; he felt his danger without 
losing his composure. " Take my hand, my life" he said, 
as he turned his dying eyes on me. I took his hand and 
pressed it to my lips ; and as I knelt at his bedside I implored 
him to see a clergyman. He refused; but I extract comfort 
from the reflection that he felt and understood the pious 
ejaculations of his excellent nurse. " The Lord have mercy 
on your soul ;" he distinctly repeated " Amen." Thank God 
that I was with him to the last, and that I have never, by 
fruitless remonstrance or misguided petulance, given him one 
moment's pain. I have never made any attempt to seek 


amusement, or to follow any plan of life that he appeared 
to disapprove. The conviction that I have done my duty in 
opposing Mr. . . . supported me through the contest, 
but when the excitement had subsided, a sort of undefined 
uneasiness pressed on my feelings. Mr. . . . who has 
expressed so much affectionate friendship for me, to act in 
so unhandsome a manner. To be sure, his timid nature was 
worked on by Mr. . . . for his own mean purposes, by 
Mr. . . . for his selfish ones, and he was pressed to take 
those steps. You ask me, my dear aunt, if my wishes still 
point to England; I cannot tell you how ardently, how 
anxiously they do. Duty will detain me here some months 
longer. I must set all the land belonging to my son, every 
acre being now unset. 

If you will make me the happiest of human beings, you 
must all come here as soon as possible. Do, I entreat, I 
implore you. You crossed the sea to go to Boulogne, and 
why not come hither. Never could visit be received with 
such rapture as yours. 

I have a house large enough for yours and Aunt Aker's 
family, and a heart that longs to receive you all. Oh, do 
come ; and it would be a good opportunity for some of my 
cousins to come with my mother, and hasten our meeting. 
I purpose to spend one-half the year in England, and the 
other here, and I hope that I shall never be without some of 
you. I am very grateful for Uncle Warde's kind wishes, 
and would be delighted to have the benefit of his advice. 
How delighted I shall be when I see your carriage coming 
down the lawn. What can 1 say that will induce you to 
come ? 

I promise not to be offended if Uncle W. should sneer at 
Irish farming ; I expect to be instructed by him. Let your 
next letter fix the period of your arrival, and I shall be the 
happiest of human beings. 



I am looking out anxiously for a letter from my mother. 
Public indignation is strong against Mr. . . and Mr. . . 
Everybody is desirous that I should gain my cause, and what 
is strange is, I believe Mr. . . . would not be sorry that 
I did. 

Newtown, June 23rd. 

MY DEAR AUNT I find that I was not mistaken in my 
apprehension that you would censure me for the part I have 
taken. I knew that you would be disappointed at finding 
that I should be obliged to live part of the year here, believe 
me that I do not less ardently desire a meeting with my 
beloved family than I have ever done, you are never absent 
from my thoughts, most delightful is the feeling that our 
separation can be but temporary, that the moment I have 
arranged my son's affairs I can rejoin you, and although I 
must again quit you it will still be only for a time. I am 
not one of those who consider the exertion of travelling as a 
bar to the sweetest the most precious of gratifications, a re- 
union with those whom I love. I do long most ardently to 
see you all, dear and delightful is every remembrance now 
which used to be replete with pain ; although you will 
not come here, I can go to you, and happy beyond my 
powers of description shall I be to do so. I can imagine you 
all looking out for my arrival, and I feel confident of regain- 
ing the place in your heart of which absence has in some 
measure deprived me. I must fear that it is so since you 
won't cross the seas to see me. With me travelling is no 
object of horror, and when I think of meeting you all ; had 
I to travel through the wildest country in Europe, to feed 
on bread and water, and lie on straw (instead of rolling 
through the most civilised, reposing every night in a com- 
fortable inn, living as I do in my house) ; I should still most 
delightedly brave every peril to join your dear circle ; in 


the present delay, however, I am right, I am acting up to a 
sense of duty ; were I to consult my own gratification and 
the indulgence of my own ease and freedom by throwing 
my son's affairs into Chancery circumstanced as the estate is, 
the lands would remain unlet or only bring half their value, 
tenants are obliged to go up to Dublin even to propose, and 
the shortness of the term given under the Court occasions a 
very considerable diminution of the rent. I am not stating 
my own opinion but that of a remarkably clear-headed intel- 
ligent law agent, whose advice I apply to in all emergencies. 
I am getting all the lands surveyed and maps executed as a 
preliminary step. I have been for these ten days immersed 
in the inspection of law parchments and papers with my 
solicitor, and have acquired the faculty of distinguishing one 
deed from another however similar they may appear, in short, 
my system has already obtained the praise of my opponents ; 
of this be convinced, that if I left the management of my 
son's affairs to the court when he came of age instead of 
finding his estate (as it will be under my management) clear 
and a very large sum of money in the funds, he would be 
involved in law suits and half his estates would be unpro- 
ductive. I should but ill fulfil the trust which Sir Thomas 
reposed in me were I to abandon the management of his 
affairs when I feel conscious of the importance of my super- 
intending power. With regard to your remark about agents, 
I have but one, and he is a gentleman of unblemished inte- 
grity, great personal activity, accustomed to business and 
zealous in whatever he undertakes.. I have already received 
many proposals for lands, but do not intend to accept any 
until they have been advertised in the public papers, which 
will be done the day after to-morrow. The surveying will 
take up a few days as far as it has gone the surveying has 
been satisfactory. The measure that is now used producing 
more acres than those in use a hundred years ago. I hope 


to have every inch of land let by Michaelmas and to be at 
liberty to join you all next October ; I must therefore hope 
and trust that you will permit Margaret to accompany my 
mother we used to be as sisters, surely then after so long a 
separation she will consent to sacrifice your society for two 
or three months to meet one so warmly attached to her ; her 
refusal will deeply pain me and I trust she will not refuse. 
O ! if you would change your mind and come yourself, I 
should be too happy ; what can I say to induce you, I can 
promise you no gaiety but a most delighted welcome, lovely 
scenery and the conviction that we should form a most 
happy circle. I shall be most happy to see every branch of 
the family I have more than room for you all. I long to 
see my mother, I am certainly greatly disappointed at her 
delay ; if she brings Margaret I will forgive her. Uncle 
Warde has no dislike to travelling and I shall be delighted 
to see him. I have the copy of my settlements, my solicitor 
tells me that I may claim pin-money every year since my 
marriage because I never received it. I think I should 
almost be ashamed to do so. Sir Thomas always paid my 
bills so quietly that I never asked him for that regular 
allowance, consequently there being no receipts of mine 
amongst his papers, it seems I have a right to demand it, but 
for the present I will say nothing about it. I should hate to 
be thought mercenary. My shell house is not finished, will 
you send me any shells you have, and in return I will take to 
you mussel shells of our own polishing, exquisitely beautiful. 
I must tell you that the cheapness of living in Ireland six 
months in the year will amply pay my travelling expenses. 
I have the house free and provisions are surprisingly cheap, 
we consider fowls dear at 14d. a couple and beef at 4d. a 
pound, taxes also are much lower here than in England, so 
that don't be afraid that I shan't be able to afford to divide 
my time between the countries, blessed with health and 


energy and independence, can I not reconcile my duty with 
my warm ardent wish to be with you. We shall meet soon, 
very soon, and then adieu to care, and welcome happiness. 
Farewell to my dear Aunt ; tell me that you are convinced 
that I am in the right, and believe me your 

Most affectionate niece, 


I dared not ask Sarah to accompany my mother after her 
refusal to Aunt Akers ; if she will I shall be delighted. 
Tell Margaret if any of the family should lead her to wish 
to hurry from hence, I will undertake to have her conveyed 
home. Is my mother aware that in going by Holyhead she 
lengthens her journey fifty Irish and eighty English miles, 
and there is never a greater difference between the passage 
that way and the one from Milford than two hours, nay, it 
frequently happens that the packets run in as short and 
perhaps shorter time from Milford than from Holyhead. 
Once more, adieu. 

Newtown, May 23. 

MY DEAR AUNT, T am delighted with the prospect of 
seeing you and Jane with James. I always felt a conviction 
that you would not disappoint us; and I shall be most 
exquisitely happy to welcome you all to Newtown Anner, as 
soon as possible. I trust you will consider how impatient 
we are to see you, and make no unnecessary delay. If you 
should feel disposed to view Killarney, I should be very 
happy to bear you company, for I have never beheld such 
heavenly scenery. I would not affront it by attempting any 
description, nor have I ever seen a drawing that could convey 
the slightest idea of it. The lovely little bays, the 
picturesque rocks, the foaming torrents, the wooded rocky 
islands, mountains rising almost perpendicularly from the 


lakes, wooded to a considerable height, then contrasted by 
the deep purple hue of their raw edged-like summits. 
Sweet Killarney ! The impression it has made on me can 
never be effaced; how Margaret would have enjoyed the 
scenery. I wish she could come with you. You may be 
assured that I shall be delighted to see as many of your 
party as you feel inclined to bring with you. I like your 
account of James ; give my love to him, and tell him that 
I am very impatient to see him. I shall expect to see Mr. 
Davis with you. Believe me, my dear aunt, 

Your affectionate niece, 


If my uncle will not accompany you I hope that he will 
contrive to follow you very soon. I feel very anxious to see 
him, and will endeavour to procure him as much amusement 
as possible. 

January 8, 1824. 

MY dear aunt and all our dear friends at Yalding must, I 
am sure, have felt for our anguish during the suspense on 
account of my darling boy. I never knew what misery was 
before ; thank God ! he is doing well. How very thankful 
I am that the dreadful blow has been averted from me. No 
one who has not known what it is to watch over the sick 
bed of an almost only child, can conceive what I have 
endured during this last fortnight. The dear child does 
not appear weakened by his illness. I am given to under- 
stand that the same anxiety would not have been felt and 
expressed about any child who was one of a large family ; 
but Dr. Hemphill wished to avert from himself all respon- 
sibility, by not speaking lightly of the disease, so that I have 
suffered doubly from my son's local importance, by the 
timidity which it communicated to the manner of the 


medical men. I have felt sensibly the kindness of the whole 
neighbourhood of all ranks. The deepest interest has been 
expressed: human nature is far better than is supposed. 
Those whom I thought cared the least about me have shewn 
the deepest sympathy. My nerves have received a shock 
which has sobered them for ever. I wish for nothing but 
freedom from anxiety. 

I would give Jane an account of those we have seen since 
I last wrote, but I cannot sufficiently collect my thoughts. 
In a few days I will write a very long letter; but I have 
undergone too much to be able to write anything that could 
amuse now. My darling boy! I would not pass over 
again this last wretched fortnight for the world's wealth. 
There have been hours which I shudder to think of. Dr. 
Hemphill will, I hope, allow my dear William down stairs 
soon. I think Dr. Phelan is too cautious. How long were 
Mrs. Baines' children confined? Believe me, my dear aunt, 

Your affectionate niece, 



MY DEAR AUNT, I wish I could hope that your warm 
wishes for my darling's speedy restoration to health would 
be granted. I am sorry, indeed, to say that the poor dear 
child has suffered by the extreme coldness of this present 
month. The cough which was declining has returned; he 
is very thin and very weak, and I am so wretched that life 
gradually becomes a burthen to me. Yet what avails it to 
say or think so. I am just of that age when life seems to 
keep its firmest grasp : neither young enough nor old enough 
to fear the diseases of youth or age. But my darling boy ! 
the misery the indescribable misery of watching his pale, 
thin face, of trembling lest the feeble spark should be 
extinguishsd. Such suffering would be enough to destroy 


the impression of years of felicity. Yet even reason may 
teach me to hope; William has no complaint except the 

The return of that cruel cough I fear will keep him thin 
and weak, and then if an acute attack, if the measles should 
seize him, God knows what may be the dreadful result. If 
the Almighty will but spare me this horrible apprehension, 
if I could feel the energy of confidence return to my heart, 
how endless will be my gratitude; or if Providence will not 
vouchsafe to grant my prayer, may God in His mercy forgive 
all that I have done amiss, and receive me into Heaven. And 
indeed I wonder I have ever dreaded death ; the best part of 
life is gone with the gaiety of youth, and what remains 
behind can bear no competition with the slightest hope of a 
happy hereafter. 

I feel I think so differently now from what I did, perhaps 
I may be the better for what I have undergone, as long as I 
live, if the misery extends no farther than at present my 
dear, dear, darling boy ! I always thought that I doated on 
him, but now what a weight of aching, anguished, adoring 
love oppresses my breast, oppresses my heart almost to 

This cruel weather renders us afraid to try change of air, 
yet nothing else will restore my boy ; besides I long to have 
him placed under the constant superintendence of Dr. Poole. 
I dread the consequences of bringing a stranger on my 
child, yet let me be thankful that he has no uneasiness or 
complaint of any kind except that dreadful whooping cough ; 
his lungs I think must be safe. God grant they may con- 
tinue so. I could ill bear another acute alarm. 

William is now always reading, and I am for ever bring- 
ing him books. He insists on my writing to request Aunt 
Akers to lend him a book he saw at Tunbridge Wells called 
" Fox's Martyrs," and he will thank her to send it him by 


the first opportunity she meets with. The recollection of 
the pictures dwells on his mind, and I was obliged to promise 
to make the request. Indeed I have no real object but him 
in all I think and do. Never did the happiness of a human 
being hang more completely on one stake than mine. May 
it not fail me ! 

My mother desires me to say that she would not wish the 
house to be advertized. She would be glad to sell it on 
good terms, provided it be not necessary to purchase it first, 
and that from the idea that it might be an inconvenience to 
my uncle to part with the money ; besides being a loss from 
the present state of the funds which he would sustain. My 
mother would like matters to remain as they are between 
them without loss upon either side. I am sorry to hear such 
an account of Sarah ; pain requires the greatest attention 
Be assured I am right in thinking so. 
Adieu, my dear aunt, 

Believe me, 

Your affectionate niece, 


Continue to pray for me. If ever mortal needed prayers 
I do. Think what a happy creature I used to be, and now 
irritable, melancholy, and wretched. All that once pleased 
can delight no more ; business is torture, society worse, and, 
solitude a negative comfort. God knows how soon I may 
wish for the darkest of all solitudes. 

Commercial Hotel, Waterford, April 25, 182-t. 

MY DEAR AUNT, You are anxious to hear from us, and 
everything I write must give pain. William is far from 
better since he came here, change of air which is so good 
for other whooping coughs seemed to exasperate his, and 
perhaps the fatal plan of exposing him to the air has made 


me the murderer of my child, yet I acted by advice of medi- 
cal men, to listen to his hurried breathing, to look at his 
emaciated frame, so thin that he cannot sit without pain, in 
this whole city I do not believe there exists a being so wretch- 
ed as I, former blessings only serve to heighten the contrast. 
Affliction is so new to me that I cannot struggle with 
it. Oh! if the Almighty will try me this once, and will 
spare me this dreadful trial, I think I may promise never 
more to commit one of the sins by which I have drawn 
it on myself. Pride, presumption, and vanity shall cease 
for ever. I never think but in prayer ; but hitherto 
my prayers have not been heard. Joy, hope and happi- 
ness, fade before my eyes. Still my darling has no com- 
plaint but the whooping cough, yet how can his attenua- 
ted frame endure it much longer. Dr. Poole hopes, and I 
cling fast to any ray of hope. May God have mercy upon 
me, and save me from this dreadful dispensation this, of all 
others, the hardest to bear. What can life offer to me once 
the soul of happiness, now the object of universal pity. The 
very chambermaids as I pass say, " God help you." The 
offspring of shame and guilt, the child of poverty, whose 
parents often consider it a burthen, escape. They, without care, 
without attendance, get over all the maladies of childhood, 
which my poor boy to whom life had so much to offer. He 
seems (may God grant it is only seeming) to sink under so 
common a malady. I give up all desire to see him talented 
or popular. I ask but his life his life on any terms. You 
know I never anticipated evil. I never even dreamed of the 
possibility of its occurrence. Just conceive for one moment 
what I must be enduring. May the Almighty expiate my 
offences with a lesser punishment than this. I have suffer- 
ed enough to make me an altered creature, that the trial may 
not be completed, wretched, inexpressibly wretched as I am 
now. The time may come when I shall look back on the ray 

VOL. I. F 


of hope which I, at present possess, as on comparative joy ; 
yet life and reason are left to those who have lost all, and 
Christians must not shake them off. I never succeed in any 
attempt at occupation except to read a few chapters in the 

There is a restlessness in intense misery which shuns 
alleviation and rest. What was I six months ago, and what 
am I now ? All that is most opposite is comprised in these 
two periods ; yet there is hope : his lungs are not yet affec- 
ted ^his appetite is good. May God give him strength to 
hold out; may the Almighty from this hour abate the 
virulence of his disease. If I can but escape this heavy 
affliction never more will any trifle grieve me. Yet there is 
one consoling thought, God is just and merciful ; and 
although I have deserved a great deal, surely not such 
extremity of misery. Don't you think that God will be 
merciful to me, particularly when I will try and make a good 
use of what I have already gone through. This resolution 
I will surely keep. I will change my whole life, and make 
others the better for my improvement, if God will spare me 
this once. If 1 do escape, and fail in my resolves, be sure 
to tell me of them. Dr. Poole is more of a friend than a 
physician ; he is a very good and a very religious man. His 
conversation sometimes calms me ; he has met with misfor- 
tune, but not to be compared with that which threatens me. 
He has lost a son, but he has another left. 1 have only one. 
God who can work miracles will perhaps at length hear my 
prayer, mine will then be a chastened happiness, not a fever- 
ish effervescence. Yet who knows whether happiness and I 
may ever meet again. I still ask for your prayers, and I 
thank you all for your wish to be with me. If my child 
should rally sufficiently we will visit you. Alas ! he is so 
weak that I know not how he will bear the journey of to- 
morrow. I have some fear that we must make two days of 


it. God give us all strength, him of body, and my mother 
and me of mind ; she suffers for me almost as much as I do 
for myself. 

I thank you all for your sympathy. I can still feel grate- 
ful. Believe me, my dear aunt, 

Your affectionate niece, 


We go home to-morrow thinking the pure air of Newtown 
may do something for us. At the end of four months my 
child's complaint is as violent as ever, his breathing worse. 
May God help me and save him. Who is there now with 
whom I would not change ? With any one but the guilty. 
I would take anybody's burthen but my own. God knows 
I intended to bring up this poor child to be useful to his 
country, to be religious and virtuous. All is now of no avail. 
Early promises, anxious hopes, fond prayers, fond hopes, 
fade before my eyes. That which I once could not contem- 
plate in idea for one moment is now for ever before my eyes, 
hopes the fairest the brightest perish in the tomb. 

Newtown, May 12, 1824. 

MY DEAE AUNT, Since last I wrote I have endured misery 
which surpasses description. One dreadful day we thought 
all was really over, and all the family were sent for to 
Waterford. How little have I in my days of joy anticipated 
such a dreadful situation. The dear sufferer, however, 
thank God, rallied, and we have him here. He bore the 
journey very well, lying on the seat of the carriage, but 
the next day he coughed incessantly, alas ! We cannot give 
him nourishing food and strengthening medicines ; they 
would but nourish the fever that consumes him. That fever, 
however, thank God, lessens ; it is intermittent, and if Pro- 
vidence will for once hear my prayers I may still be spared 
a calamity to which I cannot even affect to be resigned. 

F 2 


The weather, one day so warm, the next a cold easterly- 
wind, adds to my misery, my dreadful apprehensions ; do 
not pray for strength, for patience, for fortitude. If it be 
Heaven's will to afflict me, the best hope would be, that I 
should sink under the blow. Think what affliction must be 
to me how deep, how overpowering. Never was there a 
human being who could less endure it. Think what a sunny 
existence mine has been ; then reflect on the darkness which 
must succeed if God will not hear my prayer. How deep, 
how overflowing would be my gratitude if an escape from 
such heart-rending misery could be purchased by a life of 
mortification, of toil, of poverty. How I should welcome it 
all ! My child, my poor child, my only son, the object of all 
my best hopes, my warmest prayers, my doating love. Oh, 
may God in his mercy spare him. Let me not be doomed to 
such a dreadful fate. My dearest, dearest boy. Father of 
Heaven have mercy on me. Surely I have not forfeited all 
hope of mercy. Surely, as he has begun to mend, my 
darling must continue to do so. Will not God strengthen 
his feeble frame, and destroy the virulence of disease? My 
darling child ; I who was once so happy. Yet I think he 
will recover. Why should he not? Other children do, and 
I am not to be the most wretched of mothers. He is dread- 
fully emaciated ; so have others been. His fevers do not 
proceed from affection of the lungs ; it is irritation of the 
windpipe, and a great discharge of mucous when he coughs ; 
but as the mucous is there we must not use antispasmodics. 
It would be dangerous to stop the cough. Common whoop- 
ing cough medicines may not be used. As he has no ailment 
necessarily mortal, why may he not be spared? I think the 
medical men have better hopes. May God strengthen them. 
Let me have faith in prayer. Everybody, that is, all good 
people who know us, pray for my child ; and if bad people 
do pray, surely their prayers will not be heard against ours. 


My beloved boy ; could I but hope to see him as he was 
when you were here. 

I am grateful to you all for your kind sympathy. Every- 
body feels for us ; everybody has been very kind. You 
cannot conceive how the whole country for miles round, 
rich and poor, are interested, but what avails it ! 

I am sorry to hear of my uncle's illness, and I am very 
grateful for his kind wishes. Ours is a wretched family. 
Let me be thankful that hope is left. Believe me, my dear 

Your affectionate niece, 


" The subject of the following letter was thus announced 
in the Clonmel Advertiser of Wednesday, May 26, 1824 : 

' We have much regret to mention that about nine o'clock 
on Sunday morning last Sir William Osborne, Bart., died at 
Newtown Anner, near Clonmel, after a tedious illness, in the 
eighth'year of his age. This interesting child, who evinced 
talents much beyond his years, and has left a disconsolate 
mother (Lady Osborne), and many admiring friends to lament 
his loss, is succeeded in his title by his uncle, Mr. Henry 
Osborne, now Sir Henry Osborne, Baronet, and in his 
estates by Catherine, aged six years, now the only remaining 
child of the late Sir Thomas Osborne, Baronet. 

' The mortal remains of Sir William will be interred in 
the family vault in St. Mary's Churchyard, Clonmel, bet ween 
the hours of ten and eleven o'clock to-morrow morning.' " 

In her last illness Lady Osborne desired that the remains 
of her husband and son should be removed to the country 
churchyard of Killaloan, and her wishes were carried out. 
Hers lie there also. 


June, 1824. 

YES, my dear aunt, I have preserved my senses although 
I have seen the being I loved best in the world draw his last 
breath, the being in whom, from the moment of his birth, 
all my hopes have been fixed. But what a reverse, what a 
change from happiness to misery. It is true I can turn my 
views to another world, but it is so very hard in the summer 
of life to lose all hope of enjoyment here ; all views, hopes, 
wishes for the future be buried in the tomb. Child of hope, 
of expectation, where are the rejoicings that resounded at 
your birth ! Alas ! the very recollection is washed away by 
the tears that have fallen on your grave. How proud I have 
felt at his early talent how proud of his future distinction. 
I thought he would have been spared to be the good landlord 
the pious Christian the excellent son the polished gentle- 
man ; and I, his idolizing mother,have seen the hearse that bore 
him to the grave. Mine is no common affliction. It is not the 
petted child one of a large family. It is my only son the 
object of every hope, of every passion, of endearing adoring 
affection, one with whom every minor feeling was connected; 
and, although worldly views are nothing compared to the 
loss of such an angel boy, yet they were so entwined with 
his idea as to have added to the whole. Every former 
source of enjoyment is now connected with one of wretched- 
ness. The fine weather, six weeks ago, would have saved 
my darling boy. 

The very elements conspired to destroy him. Death 
death amidst all the large families, and no victim be found 
but my poor precious blossom. Snatched from all his 
prospects, he can never breathe the perfumed air of spring ; 
alas ! it is the damp, unwholesome dew of the grave that 
wastes the cheek of my poor William. Then the feeling 
that he might have been saved had he been taken to Cove 


early in the spring. He might have lived ; yes, I think he 
was murdered by his doating mother. I ought to have 
made all sure by sending for Crampton. Now he is gone, I 
think not by the visitation of Heaven, but through the 
mismanagement of others, and I shall never hear his voice 
again never see his smile. If Heaven would grant one 
prayer, after denying the prayers of months if Heaven 
would send the spirit of my darling boy to comfort his 
wretched mother, I should be comforted ; and as I have been 
afflicted beyond the common lot of mortals, why may I not 
hope to be comforted in a peculiar manner. I will hope 
and watch, for I expect it. My dear, dear child, this is all 
I can hope from you will you not give it me ? Let nobody 
presumptuously say " such a misfortune will not happen to 
me, because I could not survive it;" let them look at me, 
and prove the toughness of the human frame to support the 
worst of mental sufferings. If my life could have saved 
his, or if I could have perished with him. Alas ! what can 
1 do but submit ? When I can persuade myself that I 
suffer merely through the will of Heaven, I can force 
myself into something of religious enthusiasm, and turn to 
the promises in the New Testament for consolation, but 
mourning brings with it the idea of my treasure lost, 
through mistake murdered! The sun, the hateful sun, 
which would not shine to restore him, how it glitters on his 
tomb; how Nature laughs at his burial. My darling, the 
strawberries you wished to ripen will never be eaten by you, 
the garden you desired to be prepared for you to work in 
when you should recover, you can never see. Why did 
you die? Was it ... with an empty title, or did you 
in death prepare the boy for the final accomplishment of all 
their views. Catherine may soon follow . . . had been 
in Clonmel . . . the death of my children could take 
fortune, situation, everything, and give me back my darling 


child my dearest hope. When I have turned pale at the 
description of wasting disease, it was perhaps a presentiment 
that I should see the object of my best affections gradually 
sink into the grave. Here have ended all my hopes in this 
world, and I assure you I am trying to turn them to another. 
Nothing else will do ; how can I exchange my view of life, 
how can I forget the hopes of years. Let me exist tinder 
the hope of meeting him in Heaven. I think I should be 
less unhappy anywhere than here. I wish I could be 
amongst you all; perhaps you could think of something 
that would do me some good yet what can do me good ! 
I am better when I shed tears, because that relieves me of 
a burthen, but they don't always come. I am sorry, too, 
when I have complained of Heaven. The clergyman who 
called on me. and Mrs. Riall, and everybody seems shocked; 
but if you knew how I have promised and prayed. How 
grateful I should have felt to Providence for his restoration, 
and how hard it is to find out a good reason for his death ; 
for whose life all the country, high and low, have prayed. 
You would scarcely wonder, and still less blame me for 
complaining; did you ever know a child who had been 
always healthy, die of the whooping-cough before ? I never 
did. How could I expect it should befal me. Perhaps you 
will all think that we killed him by taking him out in an 
open carriage, but if you knew how well he was wrapped 
up, and only drawn before the door, sheltered by the house. 
Still he breathed the air. But I was desired to take him out, 
and how could I help it? He had had the disease some 
months ; perhaps it was the will of God. I wish I could be 
sure that he was not murdered here, and I wish I could see 
his spirit in Heaven as surely as I feel my own loss here. 
Oh, Aunt Warde, is it not a sad thing to feel the whole 
face of nature changed, that everything that used to please 


has become a source of wretchedness. The place in the 
beauty of summer where is its little lord? The estate he 
to whom it belonged, what a narrow place he occupies ! All 
views are worse than dead, they are subjects of reproach. 
Had not my presumption undertaken the management of 
his property, we should have lived in England; my boy 
would not have taken the whooping-cough at that season, 
he would have been alive. It is in vain to disguise it he 
was in one way or other murdered. 

What can comfort me. What a wretch I must have 
been, if such a being were to perish merely to punish 
me. Such a life forfeited to my sins to try me. Poor dar- 
ling ! for several days he had been puzzling himself to think 
of a present for his sister. His death has made her an 

I am told that my leaving home now would have a bad 
effect on her affairs. As soon as I am allowed to move I 
shall ; for I will never engage in business, beyond signing 
my name. Would to God I never had ambitious views for 
my darling. Presumptuous expectations, fond hopes, fallen 
with my angel boy. The day before he died he told me not 
to leave him to dine, as if he had a presentiment how soon we 
should part. 

If Uncle Warde can bring one of my cousins, I think I 
should be comforted by their presence. I wish I could go 
to you how different a visit from the last. You must 
imagine my mother's sufferings. My selfishness has been 
all engrossed with my own. I am in every respect the worse 
for my affliction changed in temper, in character. Sorrow 
has hardened my heart. I feel so much for myself that 
I can scarcely feel for others. I am a wreck a miserable 
broken plank of a vessel, that rode proudly on. I will, 
however, hope to glide through time, and reach a happy 


eternity. I must thank God for many friends, and you for 
all your kind affection and sympathy. I thank my uncle 
particularly; he is indeed very kind. 

Believe me, my dear aunt, 

Your affectionate niece, 


Newtown Anner, June 27, 1824. 

MY DEAR Miss PALLISER, I am grateful for the sympathy 
expressed in your letter. I am sure you all feel for the sad 
calamity which has befallen me. How little, when we last 
met, did either of us anticipate the change that was working 
in the prospects of one so gay and happy. 

I am changed, indeed. Mine is not the affliction which 
expends itself in violent emotions, and wears itself out at 
last; it is that deep dejection which leaves no prospect that 
the tide will ever turn again in favor of earthly happiness. 
The best and fondest hopes of years are buried in the tomb, 
and I can never turn my views to other objects. Every 
minor consideration was connected with my dear lost trea- 
sure. I was so proud of him ; of his early talents, his sweet 
disposition, the pleasure I had in attending to business for 
his advantage. What can life be to me but a routine of 
listless duties. I have seen the creature I loved best in the 
world draw his last breath. He whom I thought I could 
not have parted with to send to a public school, I have sent 
to his grave. A year since, had I been led to anticipate 
such a misfortune, I should have said that I could not sur- 
vive it ; but God, who did not see fit to avert the blow, has 
given patience to bear up ; and I do bear it with a calmness 
which astonishes myself. Several persons have been anxious 
to administer the only consolation such afflictions will admit. 
Dr. Bell and your friend Mr. Woodward came to visit me. 
Mr. Woodward's eloquence and tone of deep feeling have 


made a strong impression on me. I like to hear him speak 
on the subject of religion the subject on which I used to 
think so little. It has now become the only one I can listen 
to with interest. 

We can only lose sight of the loathsome images of the 
grave by fixing our thoughts on the hopes of a bright and 
glorious immortality. The lightness of heart I once could 
boast has left me for ever. The consolation that I cannot 
even now long inhabit this world ; that I may hope to meet 
my darling in heaven, is a comfort of which the world can 
never deprive me. I have given up any hope of happiness 

Your brother Hugh told me that your sister has caught 
cold by going down stairs too soon after her illness. I trust 
it has occasioned no serious relapse. Your family are 
amongst the few individuals I really wish to see. I have 
more than once found your brother John in conversation 
with my poor little boy. How little I then dreamed of the 
misery that awaited me. He will feel for me as you all do. 
The voice of my darling son will never be heard again. If 
my heedless life should have drawn down this blow on me, 
by gaiety, at least I can never offend again. Believe me, 
my dear Miss Palliser, 

Your affectionate friend, 


What a lesson am I to those who form presumptuous 
hopes. William I hoped to have reared a paragon, and he 
moulders into dust, leaving no memorial but the hair which 
I wear in my bosom, and the grief we bear in our hearts. 

Newtown Anner, August 22nd, 1825. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, We are all indeed very differently 
circumstanced now, from what we were this time last year. 


To contrast such a past with such a present, is sufficient to 
to tell all that in outward circumstances can be told; but 
God has been to me merciful turning the tide of my 
hopes and affections into a channel where they can spring 
up beyond the reach of time and affliction. 

I am become so completely convinced of the unimportance 
of all matters connected with this life, when compared with 
the prospects of another, that I think I could endure any 
future affliction with composed resignation. All the change 
that could be made has taken place in me; and let it be ! 
God forbid, that I should ever return to my former state. 
I would not purchase back my former gaiety, if I could. I 
am satisfied to be always composed, and occasionally cheer- 
ful. It is to tame the spirit, to wean us from the love of the 
world, to transplant the affections from earth to heaven, that 
afflictions are sent. Where they have not this effect the 
heart becomes indurated, moral sensibility is destroyed, and 
the sufferer is not consoled but forgetful, when death has rob- 
bed us of the being we love ; but religion will not lend her 
aid in conjunction with the ordinary concerns of life, she 
will not come in, by the bye, she must do everything. She 
must be all in all ; and her support suffices to enable us to 
" run with patience the race that is set before us. " 

I am indeed a new creature " old things are passed away, 
all things are become new to me." The Sun of this world 
has set ; but the dawn of immortal life is begun within my 
soul, under God I have to thank Mr. Woodward for convert- 
ing the language of murmuring and despondency into the 
tone of resignation and hope. I owe Dr. Poole a greal deal 
for the benefit of his conversation during my darling's illness ; 
but when I found that my prayers had not been answered, 
and that he died, my views of religion were changed into 
complaint, and it was not until Mr. Woodward, under the 
guidance of heaven, presented it under a new aspect, that 


my heart became softened ; and Jane, I daresay, has told you 
that I am now better than I could have hoped to be in short, 
as I wish to be during the remainder of my pilgrimage on 
earth. I am afraid I shall not be able to go to England before 
November, as I may be detained until then by law business ; 
duties must be performed. There are trials as well as afflic- 
tions in life, but in November we shall meet, not with the joy- 
ous feelings with which we reached Yalding three years since, 
but still with heartfelt gratification. The little baronet, with 
whom Richard so often joked, will not be there, but the eye 
of faith can behold him in heaven, and we shall dwell 
together in eternity. Then the sufferings of time are all to 
be overcome by a Christian, because the heart is with the 
things which " are not seen." His hopes are laid up in 
heaven. My thoughts run so constantly in this strain, and 
my correspondence has all had the same tendency; so I 
forget how to write in any other way. You will not, I 
hope, think it dull. There is but one subject which should 
be a matter of equal interest to all of us travellers ; it is the 
country to which we are travelling, and we must not be 
so much occupied by the weeds and flowers of the world as 
to forget that the journey draws to a close. 

Jane seems as contented and cheerful during this period 
of dulness as she was last year in our days of enjoyment, 
when we sprang on our horses, with hearts so light and hopes 
so gay. Aunt Warde and my Uncle have been very kind 
in sparing her to us, to cheer us in our sadness; and I 
consider her presence as having been of great service to us, 
by diffusing a tone of cheerfulness through our little circle, 
which it could not have had if left to ourselves. I feel very 
grateful to her for giving up her visit to Mrs. Baines, where 
her time would have been passed in less seclusion. My friend, 
Doctor Poole, comes to see us sometimes. He is a valuable 
acquisition. Providence has been gracious to me, in raising 


up two such friends as Dr. Poole and Mr. Woodward, to 
advise and instruct me. Jane has told you of our success 
at Waterford. The opposite party, with Papist craft, threat- 
ened to disturb the verdict. We hope they will not be able 
to do so, but we cannot know till November, but if we can 
go to England before, we shall, as it will give me great com- 
fort to be amongst you all again ; my poor William is gone, 
therefore his mother can never more enter into the pleasures 
of the world ; but he is an angel in heaven, and his mother 
can sometimes smile and talk like others. His body lies 
mouldering in the grave ; and never, for one instant, is the 
recollection of his blue laughing eyes absent from my mind ; 
but his spirit blooms in Paradise, and my thoughts can follow 
him there. Pray not, then, for me that I may resemble 
myself in times past; but pray that I may so live by the 
light of the Gospel, as to obtain through the merits of 
Christ a place in heaven, an eternity of bliss with him who 
is gone. I would not cease to think of him who was so 
promising and so loved, but I desire to think of him in 
heaven and therefore to loathe all that savours of worldly 
amusements, because they can only be enjoyed when the 
mind is gay and satisfied with the present world. Give my 
love to all your circle, and thanks for dear Jane. Believe 
me, my dear Margaret, 

Your affectionate Cousin, 


Newtowii Aimer, November 20. 

MY DEAR MARGARET I believe you have heard that Mr. 
O'Shea has applied to have the verdict set aside which we 
once believed had decided on our claims to the disputed 
lands for ever, we shall know to-morrow or next day whether 
it will be necessary to try the cause over again or not, or in 
other words, whether we may rest in peace or be compelled 


to struggle in war with the weapons of civil law. I hope I 
do not say with pride, but I believe that few individuals 
have ever awaited the termination of a business of some 
worldly importance with more settled composure of mind 
than I feel in myself at this moment, but I can scarcely feel 
a sufficiency of interest on the occasion, my temptations do 
not at present lie on the side of wealth. I am quite con- 
vinced that physical as well as moral comfort must belong 
to a moderate share of riches rather than to their abundance: 
the man of five hundred a year can procure enough to eat 
and drink and a sufficiency of clothing, the man of five 
thousand can consume no more, his servants and idle 
acquaintances commonly demolish the rest; and such is the 
indolence that has crept over me that the task of superin- 
tending servants and preventing robbery has become so 
extremely irksome that I should feel any pecuniary sacrifice 
light which could procure me a freedom from care, provided 
it could be obtained with a quiet conscience, which it cannot 
if the repose be purchased by the neglect rather than by the 
absence of a disagreeable duty. The necessity for exertion 
is one of my crosses, and certainly that which I am the least 
willing to bear ; but I had not intended this strain of reflec- 
tion, it is decidedly irrelevant to the subject on which I 
intended to write, namely our journey to England. It is 
impossible for us to leave Ireland until my mother's business 
shall be concluded, mine is almost completed and will be 
entirely in the course of a fortnight. I hope nothing will 
occur to prevent our setting out when all is arranged. My 
mother grieves at the delay from England. . . These 
roaring winds make me tremble at the prospect of the cold 
stormy voyage ; but I ought to consider it, and I do consider 
it as a trifling inconvenience, how criminal it would be to 
mourn over the inclemencies of the skies, with every conve- 
nience and comfort which circumstances admit when so 


many are exposed to their rage without an alleviating exter- 
nal circumstance to enable them to be borne; this is so trite 
an observation that it deserves an apology, but I may learn 
to apply it to myself, and when we meet all the pain and 
difficulty will be forgotten you will find me as cheerful and 
as capable of enjoying all the composed pleasure of quiet 
society and conversation as ever, although I have for ever 
renounced the gaieties of life, but I feel such an inborn con- 
viction of the happiness of my sweet boy and such confidence 
in our re-union that though I love him as fondly as ever I 
consider our separation as merely temporary and that his 
existence is simply changed and not lost. The conviction I 
speak of is solely that of the heart and is quite distinct from 
the belief which is communicated only through the medium 
of reason. I expect to have many interesting conversations 
with Richard on the most important of all topics. You 
would like Mr. Woodward, his fine mind and interesting 
conversation resulting from the deeply spiritual turn which 
that mind has taken, and frequently enlivened by playful 
humor, render him the support and delight of all who come 
within his influence ; I consider his acquaintance as a bless- 
ing, and for his friendship I can find no stronger word. 

Jane is at Mr. A. Riall's with Anna ; 1 suppose she will 
write herself as she desired me to forward my letter to her. 
I feel every day more and more thankful for the deep con- 
solation which I have derived from the influence of religion, 
and although I have constantly to mourn over the absence 
of many Christian tempers from my mind I am at least 
thankful for the ardent desire to possess them, and for 
the wish (although very different is the power) to try my 
actions by the standard of the New Testament. I am far 
indeed from the humility of a true disciple, but the strict- 
ness at least does not disgust me, and so far from feeling 
a disposition to gloom by the habit of religious reading, 


I have attained to a cheerfulness of spirit which I once 
tli ought could never be mine. The less religion compro- 
mises, the more interesting it becomes. It seems more a 
reality to the mind when we consider it as the object to 
which all others must be postponed. Instead of a cold, 
lifeless duty, it becomes the bright medium through which 
every object is viewed. It does not lessen any really inno- 
cent enjoyment to say, " all this, and heaven besides;" but it 
diminishes any affliction to think that it may contribute to 
render us fitter for a bright and glorious eternity. Good 

Wednesday Evening. 

In consequence of the illness of Mr. Pennefather, the 
argument relating to our cause has been deferred, and will 
not be resumed until January, but this will not postpone 
our departure, which will take place as soon as our mutual 
business can be arranged. 

I hope we shall all meet in health and cheerfulness ; and, 
if it be God's will, I hope we shall meet in the course of two 
or three weeks. Poor little solitary Catherine is looking 
well. We must not let her be spoiled among you. At pre- 
sent she is not much indulged. James and I have taken a 
long ride to Fethard, and enjoy the comforts of a good fire 
after the sharp air. I have often thought lately, whilst I 
freely enjoy every physical comfort, how shocking it would 
be to suffer the loss of any one of them to affect my temper. 
Mr. Woodward often observes that whilst we turn with 
disgust from the self-infliction of some of the pious Roman 
Catholics, how little careful we are to substitute a higher, 
because a more spiritual, religion for their grosser sacrifices ; 
and this idea often recurs to my mind with some benefit. 
It often presses on my conscience, when a spirit of un- 
Christian zeal has led me to express my dislike to the Popish 
VOL. i. G 


priests. I ask myself, what do I do for God? and the 
answer is, nothing. I suppose Jane has told you that the 
children have been removed from my school by the priests. I 
liave both felt and shewn more anger than I could be war- 
ranted either by Providence or Christianity, and certainly 
more than I should have done had I been actuated in what I 
^attempted, solely by a desire of pleasing God, and not by a 
wish to obtain the esteem of man. With love to all your 
circle, I will conclude my sermon. Do not suppose that I 
always preach ; I trifle as much as any body; but to sit 
down in sober earnestness to write without any temptation 
to trifle, which excitement sometimes gives, without high 
spirits to betray me, and to correct the gaiety which will 
often come uncalled, I consider quite an unnecessary effort; 
and whether I write or speak, I do it according to the mood 
in which I find myself at the moment be it sad or cheerful. 
My feelings are far from sad just now; they are the essence 
of sober, grateful repose; and I must only pray that the 
source of all my soul's enjoyment may spring up into ever- 
lasting life. May God bless us both. 

Your affectionate cousin, 


Newtown Aimer, November 15th, 1826. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I am delighted to hear that Mary and 
Richard have at length entered a state, which, to them at 
least, promises a great deal of happiness. Their attachment 
has been of such long standing that there will be no dis- 
coveries to be made in each others characters. No slumbering 
antipathies (as Lord Byron expressed it) to be awakened by 
time and circumstance. I hope and trust they, will be happy. 
I have always wished the match to take place, and I think 
it very suitable, and very promising. When we consider 
what human nature is, and how few persons there are with 


whom it is pleasant to be closely connected, a marriage 
which does not introduce a number of new relations has 
great advantages. I like the idea of their living at the 
Parsonage. I passed in y time so happily there, that the asso- 
ciations connected with it will always be dear to me. Your 
description of the wedding is very lively and entertaining. 
We thought of the party on the nuptial morning. The 
weather was very fine here, and I thought of the old saying 
" Happy the bride whom the sun shines on." It was not so 
fine with you, but I hope that the sunshine of religion will 
always animate and enliven the hearts of the truly amiable 
couple who sealed their fate that morning. I have established 
one of the Protestant families at the lodge, whom I men- 
tioned in my last letter. I think they will be a kind of safe- 
guard to us. These poor Protestants are very intelligent, 
and listen with the greatest attention to the Scriptures, 
which I read to them. 

They meet in one house, and form quite a congregation. 
My taste for Greek continues. I am reading Lucian's 
Dialogues, and I have read in the Testament, Matthew, Mark, 
John, and I am now reading Luke. 

I find it interesting as a pursuit, although I do not 
consider it to be very useful, as I am sure the Testament is 
sufficiently well translated, but there is a pleasure in con- 
quering difficulties for which we can scarcely account. 

Anna has written to Jane ; and, I suppose, has told her all 
the news of the neighbourhood. I am going to send her let- 
ter to Lord Donoughmore to be franked. I have no news to 
tell. I believe I told you of our Church Missionary Meet- 
ings, which the Roman Catholics have attended. There will 
be another next week, and I really hope it will do some 
good pai^ticularly if they should attend this, as their priest 
has forbidden them. It will be one step towards emancipa- 
tion from his tyranny. The Woodwards, Pallisers, and 



Pennefathers are our principal associates. They have lately 
left the country, although the Pallisers will return for the 
next meeting. Don't you think it a good thing for the 
R. C's to hear Protestant sermons. It is, in fact, getting 
them as a congregation. It is a matter of great interest to 
know if they will come to the next meeting. I shall say nothing 
of Catherine, as she means to write to you herself. I have 
heard but once from Jane since we left England; and I 
generally feel that, in writing to one of your circle, I write to 
all, there fore, I think, having more time than I have, she might 
write again. However, I do promise to write to her very 
soon, although she seems to prefer Anna as a correspondent. 
Have you read the story of Isabel. I recommend it as very 
interesting. It is by the author of the " Favourite of 
Nature," &c., &c. 

" The Lord Donoughmore Lady Osborne speaks of was 
Richard, Earl of Donoughmore, who assisted Lavalette in 
making his escape, and was distinguished in other ways." 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I am very much surprised at find- 
ing by your letter that you consider me as having written 
very seldom. I am fully convinced that some of my letters 
must have miscarried in consequence of my practice of 
sending them to Lord Donoughmore's. His lordship is not 
a man of methodical habits, and as he never burns old letters 
and papers, he has heaps of them by him, under which 
letters frequently lie unopened. This has been the case 
with two letters of my mother's. The discovery was made 
from the circumstance of one containing a bill which, not 
being acknowledged, enquiry was made, by the result of 
which it appeared that the letters had never come to hand ; 
and months after Lord Donoughmore discovered it in a 
drawer. From what you say, I consider that some of mine 


must have shared the same fate, as I assure you that more 
letters have left the house addressed to yours than have 
reached us from your family. In future, however, I shall 
send mine to Miss Hutchinson to get franked for me. Anna, 
I assure you, has written several times, and you say that no 
letter has been received from here. You say you wish to 
hear more about our family than about people of whom you 
know nothing. What can I tell you? Of Catherine I have 
nothing to say, except that, thank God, she is healthy and 
improving in her education to my heart's content. She has 
mentioned to Aunt Warde that we think of going to Paris ; 
this, however, we shall not do until after having passed some 
time in London. Then I purpose to take her to Paris, 
where she may acquire a perfect pronunciation of the 
French language. I prefer taking her so young, because I 
can the better preserve her from contaminating society now, 
than I could do some years hence. She will require more 
help in her education than any woman can pour into her 
intelligent mind the intellectual treasures which ought to 
fill it. Alas ! I think but too much of these things. What 
are all the stores of learning and knowledge compared to the 
pearl of great price. I thought I had got rid of my value 
for talent and attainment, but the temptation is perceptibly 
increasing. Catherine gets on in her Latin remarkably well ; 
in music, too, of course. She is cheerful and very healthy. 
My mother's health is much better than it was last winter. 
Under Providence we are indebted for this to a very skilful 
medical man. We all look forward with great delight to 
the prospect of seeing all our dear friends in the autumn. 
May God preserve us all in health and strength to meet in 
joy and peace. You complain that you feel you have rather 
lost than gained ground in religion. One or the other must 
be true ; for there is no standing still. I grieve to sav that 
I have the same tale to tell. Yes; in the midst of sermons 


and expositions, and everything to kindle and animate, my 
heart is a like a stone. My snares are not the same as those 
you speak of. Mine is the ardent, enthusiastic pursuit of 
knowledge not that I consider the pursuit forbidden, but it 
ought not to engross the heart and affections. Society has be- 
come irksome to me, with the exception of about three people 
out of my own family. Of these, Mr. Woodward is one. I 
scarcely ever stir from home ; have grown quite negligent 
in my visits to the poor; quieting my conscience with the 
assertion that nothing could be done for Roman Catholics. 
To be sure, the poor Protestants assemble in my chapel, and 
I instruct and examine my servants regularly. Much, too 
much, of my time, however, has been spent in literary 
leisure in the delights of oil painting and study. It is a 
task to me to leave these pursuits, whilst souls are perishing 
around me. I have, however, been roused from my stupor 
by a sermon which I have lately heard, and, with God's 
help, I awoke to exertion. My conscience has long re- 
proached me. Do you remember the Miss . . . whom 
you saw with me in London? One of them married Mr. 
. . . I had a letter from her yesterday, in which she 
announced that her father had lost his fortune by the 
absconding of a man whom he had trusted. He bears it, 
she says, with Christian resignation. . . 

Anna spends all her time in reading and talking, and 
James possesses a great store of knowledge ; and between us 
all, there is such a flow of conversation on intellectual sub- 
jects, that the mind is as much unspiritualized by that as by 
anything else ; and when the day is done, I feel how little 
of God there has been in all we say, in spite of all the great 
appearance of religion, from the abundance of devotional 
exercises. Should this be so ? for we ought to be devoted 
body, soul, and spirit. I rejoice to find my dear Aunt 
Warde is so much better. May God preserve her in health 


and strength, and send us a happy meeting. No one knows 
of my writing, so I have no message from any of the party ; 
they are all in bed. My eyes always prevent the night 
watches, although I am an early riser. Give my love to 
Uncle Warde, aunt and cousin. Did you receive a letter 
which I wrote about three months since? The times are 
awful, indeed ! Why do the bishops not come like that 
Christian hero, Mr. Percival, to propose a day of fasting and 
prayer throughout the kingdom ? Why don't they make a 
stand against Sunday newspapers? Did you hear of the 
attempt to murder Mr. Synge, a noble creature, to whom the 
world offered every allurement, and he left it to become 
a mere drudge. Layman as he is, he lives in a wild part of 
Ireland. He has civilized his immediate neighbourhood; 
has made, by God's blessing, a hundred and fifty converts 
from Popery, and has built a church for them at his own 
expense, in which he reads and preaches himself when he 
cannot get a clergyman. 

Possessing a large fortune, he has nothing better on his table 
than " home made " wine. No carpet on his floor; and when 
he has been remonstrated with, he said, " Whenever you can 
prove to me that every poor person in the country has a 
blanket to his bed, I will put one under my feet." He was 
riding to visit a sick person late one evening, and attended 
by a servant, when they were attacked ; five balls struck 
him, one of which, over the heart, must have been mortal, 
but it struck in the shield he wore, and that shield was the 
Bible. Several hours he lay weltering in his blood before 
assistance could be procured. He employed them in preach- 
ing the unsearchable riches of Christ. Blessed be God, he is 
recovering, but his servant died of his wounds; died re- 
joicing in the hope of glory; died thanking God that he 
was taken and his master spared, because his master could 
do more good in the world. Does not your heart kindle at 


the recital ? Mine does. What a weak, useless wretch am 
I? What has Mr. Synge done? Surrounded by a peasantry, 
speaking no language but Irish, he has taught them English, 
taught them to read, taught them the faith of Christ ; and a 
clergyman who preached to them lately, the Hon. and Rev. 
Mr. Brown, told me that he never preached to so intelligent 
a congregation ; and this he does at the peril of martyrdom ; 
for he has often been attacked by the base population, 
although his attention to their temporal wants extends to 
all ; everybody that wants it gets a meal at his house. The 
number he feeds is great indeed. He is really an incarnate 
angel. Even those who have no religion revere his character. 
You may depend upon the truth of every word. I have 
long known Mr. Synge's character. Once I met him in 
Dublin. There business had brought him for a day, and he 
flew back to his duties. He has no society in the wild spot in 
which he resides. You will not think this detail tiresome, 
although it is about a stranger. 

This man was educated in fashionable society, but, by the 
grace of God, he is what he is. 

" She forgot to end this letter." 

Dublin, May 1, 1828. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I address you in the midst of a scene 
which I daresay twenty years ago could have found no 
parallel. This house exhibits a spectacle of religion being 
the one sole object of true vital importance. Everything turns 
upon it. The conversation is either immediately on vital 
religion, or something connected with it. You feel that it 
is not only the real business of life, but you see that it is 
the ostensible business of life. We have frequent visits 
from men of talent, of piety, and everything seems to tend 
towards what everybody endeavours to do, to build up each 
other in the faith. 


Mrs. . . . once so determined a stickler for the 
world, has now completely given it up; and whilst this town 
offers every temptation to gaiety and dissipation, she and 
Miss . . . keep their ground steadily ; they give up all. 

Miss P.'s sister, Lady ... is going to give a ball, 
and Miss . . . who is fondly attached to her, fears 
giving her pain by refusing to go, and yet her conscience 
disapproves. Her anxiety makes her quite ill, but we do 
our utmost to confirm her in what she thinks right. She 
went with us to a beautiful lecture this morning, delivered 
by a very celebrated preacher. It seemed as if he knew her 
case; he spoke to it exactly. He drew such a beautiful 
picture of the comforts, the happiness of religion, even in 
this world, and then described, in glowing colors, the 
strange perversion of seeking happiness out of God, of 
going into scenes by way of relaxation, to forget God. He 
spoke of those who deemed it right to fulfil every social duty 
of life, who would shrink from the idea of not loving father 
or mother, or sister, and yet could regard with cold indiffer- 
ence the Saviour who died for them. He then proceeded, 
in the most energetic manner, to unfold the true meaning 
of the text which refers to loving father or mother more 
than Christ. Miss . . . applied it to herself, and wept; 
and I trust she will not, against her conscience, go to her 
sister's ball, to the triumph of all worldly people, and the 
deep regret of the religious. We had passed the morning 
in visiting a female bridewell, and a hospital, where I read 
and spoke to the women. Such scenes are inconsistent with 
the waltzing and rougeing which would be met with in the 
gay scenes of this now-dissipated town. I really wonder 
how people will insist as they do that it is not necessary to 
talk and think so much about religion, and require us to 
consider everybody as Christians who have been baptized 
into the name of Christ, and consequently in a state of 


salvation. Everybody whom we see running their giddy 
round, and this requisition, in the very face of our Lord's 
declaration, that ' straight is the gate, and narrow is the way 
that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.' 

The society of this family is peculiarly suited to me. I 
am sorry to say I meet with no sympathy at home. I do 
not doubt, and I confess with grief and shame, that the 
failure I have met in bringing my own family to religion 
has proceeded from my own deficiency in the fruits which 
religion should produce. They see my faults, and they do 
not see the sorrow I feel on account of those faults, and so 
religion is brought into disrepute. It is in vain that I warn 
. . . not to look for human examples, but to take her 
religion from the Scriptures. She will have nothing to do 
with religion, because religious people are not perfect; and 
it is melancholy to see her so careless about the things of 
eternity, and so devoted to a world ... I am sure if 
you were here you would enjoy the society of this happy 
family. You would like Mr. Mayers, the converted Jew, 
who is almost constantly here. He is a young man of extra- 
ordinary talent and deep piety. You would like Dr. Singer, 
who is a very superior, well-informed man, and a sincere 

There are others, too, whose names are less celebrated, but 
who are very pleasing. Then we have our country neighbours, 
the Pennefathers. We dined at the Baron's yesterday, and 
I had great interest in endeavouring to ascertain how far 
Lord de Vesci, who sate next to me, agreed in opinion. I 
found out that he is a favorer of bible-meetings, &c. ; but I 
did not ascertain how far he considers it right to give up 
the world. He is, however, sincerely anxious for the 
reformation of the country from popery, and he spoke with 
great pleasure of the improvement of religion among 


Dublin is very full ; the crowd of carriages is quite an 
amusement to me, from its novelty. The shops are really 
excellent, and society of every kind, religious and profane, 
to be had. In short, Dublin is quite alive with fashion, on 
one hand, and piety on the other. I like Dublin ; it has 
many advantages. Near a very beautiful country. Near the 
sea, cheap and convenient ; I should not dislike to live there. 
I continue to like Madame de B. I hope to bring her over 
decidedly to our way of thinking, with God's help. Cathe- 
rine is well, thank God. I hope there is some chance of 
prevailing on you to come to Newtown; how happy it 
would make me ! The elder . . . are settled in 
Kildare-street, and we meet as often as the . . . used 
to meet when we were at Tunbridge Wells. 

Mrs. Philips (Margaret) is staying in Kildare-street. She 
looks extremely delicate, and has lost much of her beauty. 

. . I am afraid I have teazed you with my own senti- 
ments. But you know one can write of nothing but one's 
own world. We have a young man here who has given 
away 8,000, left by his uncle, to different charities, and 
retained only 50 a-year for his own support. I think it 
happy to have such fruits to point to. When I think of the 
privileges I enjoy in living under such religious advantages, 
I tremble to think of the inadequacy of the fruits I bring 
forth. I promise, with God's help, to act up more to the 
light I have than I have hitherto done. I trust we may all 
meet before long in peace and happiness in this world ; if we 
do not, we must at least all meet at the Day of Judgment. 
And may we all be found at the Saviour's right hand, to 
dwell together for ever in brightness of glory. May God 
bless you, my dearest aunt. Assure yourself of the deep 
affection which I shall ever feel for you in time and for 
eternity. May God preserve you in health, and if it be His 
will, grant us to meet once more here below. Religion is 


such happiness. Earthly pleasures are spoiled even by the 
consideration of their fleeting nature, but earthly pleasures 
are enhanced by the thought of those joys which will last 
for ever. 

Believe me, my dear aunt, to be 

Your most affectionate niece, 


Pray give my best love to my uncle and cousins. 

Darling Hill, Hth December, 1828. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I had not intended to limit myself to 
half a sheet in writing to you, but Dorah Pennefather asked 
me to send her letter to Anna, which must curtail mine to 
you; perhaps I may have the happiness of seeing you sooner 
than you expect, for as Madame de B. has decided on remain- 
ing until March, I think it not unlikely that I may pay my 
visit to you between this and then, as I should not like to 
place C. under her charge again. She must have been 
spoiled by her residence with the . . Had she been 
what she is now, Lady G. could never have spoken of her in 
the way she did. From all I hear of the . . they 
must have been very strange people the daughters of the 
family engaging in romping matches with young men from 
Oxford; and this from Madame's own account. If I could 
settle in England, Dr. . . 's house would be exactly 
what I should like; it would be very delightful to be so 
near you and your dear family. But duty must keep me 
here except for a short visit ; and the establishment of the 
packets between Waterford and Bristol, facilitates communi- 
cation very much, so that I hope we shall meet more 

My health has been completely re-established by my visit 
here ; thank God ! I never in all mv life felt in better health 


than I do at this moment. I feel very anxious about you, 
my dear aunt, the account Anna sends me of your uneasi- 
ness in breathing. I hope you are very cautious of taking 
cold. I believe there is nothing against which you should 
more cautiously guard. What a comfort it is to you and 
all of us that should friends and health and all fail, there 
still remains that " one thing needful," which shall not be 
taken from us. It is that which, to the thinking mind, can 
alone render life supportable ! Suppose all things at their 
best, and life teeming with prosperity, what can be looked 
to but a rapid slide down the hill we have toiled to ascend. 
I feel this truth experimentally; and I thank God that all 
does not end here. I can understand your regret at losing 
the . . . and I hope they will be replaced by persons 
whom you can like as well. C. is a dear little girl, and I hope 
growing up very amiable. Anna says something about my 
uncle being displeased at the papers not being sent. Did he 
wish to have his own newspapers returned, or would he like 
the Glonmel Journal ? I have kept his, and can send them 
when I return home. With regard to Catholic Emancipa- 
tion, I feel satisfied to leave the question in the hands of Pro- 
vidence, well assured that God can support His own cause and 
guard His own Church. I am only too much tempted to feel 
very angry with the Roman Catholics; and nothing does me 
more harm because at variance with the gentle spirit of 
Christianity. We have spent a remarkably pleasant time 
here, reading and drawing; and always whilst the party 
were engaged in drawing or working, something good was 
read aloud, either " Scott's Bible," or " Wilke's Essays." 

I have given up " Homer," rinding it not good for the 
mind; and instead of translating a heathen poet, I have 
found profit every way in learning the Gopel of St. Luke 
by heart in Greek. I know ten chapters and part of the 
eleventh ; and I spend some happy hours in this way. The 


dwelling over Scripture, as you must do, to learn it by heart, 
impresses it so on the mind. I passed such a happy Sunday 
over the seventh chapter of St. Luke. That exquisite chapter 
is so calculated to inspire the mind with love and admira- 
tion of the Divine Being to whom we owe our whole heart. 
The Pennefathers are a most amiable family, Susan par- 
ticularly ; and as for Mrs. Pennefather, I believe her whole 
idea, from morning until night, is to do her duty to God and 
her neighbour. She has no other business no other plea- 
sure. We are going to Westgrove presently. I like the 
idea very much; Mrs. Riall and I suit each other so well. 

The Miss D's. are particularly amiable one very clever. 
They have made up our party here. It is with regret I leave 
them to go to Mrs. Riall's. Believe me to be, my dearest 
aunt, with the deepest affection, 

Your most attached niece, 
[No name]. 

Pray give my love to all your dear circle. 

MY DEAR JANE, Although I am so limited as to paper, I 
think it better to write a little than any longer defer my 
long-talked of letter. I hope Anna sent Fanny Baines a 
little Latin psalter which I intended for her. I trust that 
sweet girl has quite recovered from her long illness, and that 
Mrs. Baines is well and happy. I wish you would induce 
them all to pay me a visit, and come with them yourself. 
We find the Goughs a pleasant addition to our Society. 
The family here are very amiable, and so happy within 
themselves, that I feel so sorry to leave them, although it is 
to go to Mrs. RialTs. There is a Miss . . . here, once 
governess to Miss ... a very sweet good person. I 
should like her very much as a governess, were she suffi- 
ciently efficient. 


Mr. Woodward was very attentive to me during my 
illness, and his society often a great comfort. His dislike to 
the Reformation Society has curtailed our intercourse with 
itinerants in the religious world; they no longer come to 
this neighbourhood, which I cannot help regretting; but I 
believe this will not always last. 

I have heard that you have grown very grave. I am 
sorry to hear it. You who were always so pleasant a com- 
panion in a family circle, to lose your spirits would be a 
great pity. I like Anna's account of the parsonage, and I 
rejoice to hear that Richard and Mary are so happy. God 
grant that I may find you all well and happy. Believe me 
to be, my dearest Jane, 

Your most affectionate cousin, 



Mr. now sees that every feeling in Ireland is swallowed up 
in priest idolatry the Irish are not (as Stuart says of them) 
they are not Roman Catholics, they are not attached particu- 
larly to transubstantiation, to purgatory or to any peculiar 
doctrines of the Romish Church, they are simply and blindly 
and exclusively devoted to their priests, however ill they 
may treat them, or however wicked they may be, a kind of 
mysterious sanctity is invested in the office which the foul- 
ness of its ministers cannot sully or destroy. I will contrive 
to send you an account of the late proceedings at Fermoy, 
and I request that you will read them, my uncle particularly, 
and let me know what he thinks of hundreds of Irishmen 
allowing themselves to be flogged out of a meeting by one 
man, but because he was a priest, commended, and that was 
enough. . . . Have you ever tried our Polyglott scheme 
of reading the Scriptures with the marginal references, you 
can conceive nothing more interesting. With regard to 


light reading, I find anything of the kind which is not con- 
nected with religion very injurious to my own comfort, and 
therefore I abstain from it, without pledging myself to do 
so; but I enjoy a religious story very much now and then. 
It is very foolish for people to object to that mode of reli- 
gious instruction, when our Saviour taught in parables. 

" Mrs. Young wrote the Life and Times of Paleario. Her 
daughter married the distinguished Professor Matteucci, 
whose loss is mourned by the world of Science as well as that 
of Italian politics." 

Mrs. Young is a great acquisition, and a very great comfort 
to me. She is a very superior person indeed. My thoughts 
are much engaged at present about the establishment of a 
dispensary in this immediate neighbourhood. The dispen- 
sary of Clonmel is of no use to the country poor, because the 
surgeon cannot visit them in their dwellings. Mrs. Young 
accompanies me to all the cottages, and I find her very 
useful in prescribing cures and assisting in various ways. 
In spite of the reformation meeting, I believe that I am very 
popular in the neighbourhood, though not in the town of 
Clonmel. I have been giving away a great many blankets, 
and not confining the gift to my own poor. My mhid is 

much depressed about poor , indeed I can think of 

nothing else; this operation dwells upon my mind. I have 
such a horror of the knife, and then, trifling as it may appear, 
the sudden and painful death of Jane's favorite dog, Pompey, 
killed by some mistake of the apothecary in sending wrong 
medicines, has shocked me much. 

Mrs. H. too, my trustworthy cook and housekeeper, is 
going away on account of her health. I thank God that this 
life is not for all. I see everywhere sickness, and sorrow and 
death. It is some consolation to me that we are more suc- 
cessful among the Roman Catholics. The school here is 
particularly well attended, the only Protestant school in the 


country at which Roman Catholics do attend. Two days have 

elapsed since I began this. Poor is almost gone ; her 

mind is in somewhat a better state ; she talks of trust in her 
Saviour, but does not seem to have clear ideas of her own 
unworthiness, no sense of penitence for her past sins: her 
neglect of her children's religion, her having married her 
daughter to a Roman Catholic ; it was but a few days before 
her illness she was jesting on the subject. 1 feel deeply 
depressed, in short you cannot think what sickness and 
misery and dirt come before me. This morning I stood close 
to some peculiarly dirty wretched beggars, and the smell of 
them made me quite sick, so that I cannot lose the impres- 
sion, I fancy that I have the smell about myself. Poor 

by fatigue and anxiety seems in peculiarly bad health ; and 
what with consumption, scrofula and accidents among the 
poor, nothing can exceed (except real affliction) the melan- 
choly aspect of things. is pronounced beyond the 

reach of cure even from the operation, and as pain has ceased, 
probably mortification has commenced. 

Poor C. feels a great deal, her letter was written before 

's illness. Poor creature her pain is coming back ; I fear 

that she has much to suffer. I wish to write to my cousins, 
but I am so very tired that I must try to keep quiet before 
I go again to that poor wretched dying creature. 

God bless and preserve you all, &c., &c. 

" The nephew of Dr. Hemphill so highly eulogized, now a 
practising physician in Clonmel, attended Lady Osborne in 
her last illness, and his skill and kind friendship was a great 
comfort to her daughter during the trying time of her illness." 

Fethard Glebe, December 14, about 1827. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I have been very uneasy about 
Catherine whose cough has lasted nearly a month ; but thank 
VOL. i. H 


God, my mind is now tolerably at rest about her. Her com- 
plaint has been just of that nature to excite acute alarm for 
an only child, although it would scarcely have been noticed 
where there are half a dozen. She has never had the least 
pain or oppression. She has never lost her spirits for a 
single day, or even a single hour. Nothing but common 
cold, yet I have her on a milk diet, and the first physician in 
the country, Dr. Hemphill, of Cashel, to attend. He comfort- 
ed me by saying, that he thinks her a healthy, promising 
child, with a remarkably well-formed chest; but the least 
thing that is the matter with her always disturbs my mind 
inconceivably. 1 have shown great weakness and want of 
trust in Providence, and I feel myself on that account inde- 
pendently of every other, quite unworthy of the comfort I 
have received from her visible amendment. She is lite- 
rally enveloped in flannel ; flannel jacket and trousers, and 
stockings ; and the worst consequence of all this will be the 
making her a hot-house plant, which must be the consequence 
of all this caution. The penalty she must pay for having no 
brothers and sisters. This is the night of the great fancy 
ball at Castletown. A great party go from Newtown. I 
am happy in escaping a bustle so uncongenial with my 
feelings. The Christmas's are all there. I should feel very 
awkward at not being at home if I did not know them to be as 
well amused without me. The country has been quite wild 
about this ball nothing but dress talked of. I must think and 
feel more and more that these vain amusements are quite incon- 
sistent with serious views of religion with the obligations 
taken on ourselves on receiving the Sacrament, to devote our 
souls and bodies to be a holy, living and acceptable sacrifice ; 
and, in short, as Mr. Woodward justly observes, it is not the 
scene in which we should desire to meet our blessed Redeemer, 
were He now dwelling on earth as once He was in the form 
of man. It is not the scene in which we could reflect with 


pleasure on our death bed. I wish could be brought 

to see these things in their true light. I do not despair ; she 
does already admit that such pursuits are inconsistent with 
devotion, and it is to be hoped, that admitting that, the 
religious principle will at last be sufficiently strong to induce 
a devout practice. It is most true, that if the people of God 
be a peculiar people, they should not walk in the steps of 
those who have chosen this world as their portion. It is not 
where the name of God would be a mockery that they should 
be found. I have been wandering between this house and 
Derryluskan, unwilling to take Catherine home until she is 
quite recovered unwilling to remove her from Dr. H's 
vicinity. . . he really investigates and knows what he is 
about. Crampton says that nobody in this neighbourhood 
need send for him when they have Dr. Hemphill. My late 
anxiety has made me quite irritable and I feel to writhe under 
self-reproach and uneasiness. I feel as if I dishonoured the 
profession of a Christian. Which of us does not do that? 
But I mean, that I have in a more peculiar way come short 
of all who desire to profess themselves candidates for a 
better country. In short I feel myself as guilty as ... 
[Here the letter breaks off unfinished.] 

Holyhead, Wednesday, Oct 25th. 

MY DEAR MELESINA, We have to thank God for a very 
safe and comfortable passage. Jane, Anna, and I were per- 
fectly free from sickness, and your brother would not have 
triumphed over our miserable looks, as he does when speak- 
ing of ladies landing from a packet. We had the wisdom 
to remain upon deck ; my mother and little Catherine who 
went down to the cabin did not fare so well as we, who have 
been pronounced excellent sailors. I am glad to have 
despatched business ; my own feelings would lead me to 
speak of the regret which continues to possess me for having 

H 2 


quitted Ireland, and of the last pleasant days we passed at 
your dear Glebe. I have grown very silent from the inter- 
est that I feel, and dreaming over the past, and indeed we 
are all more inclined to muse than converse. I have but a 
few moments to spare, my letter must therefore be very 
short, but I know you will be very glad to hear of our 
safety, and that annunciation induced me to address you now, 
rather than defer it until I could say all that I wish. Do 
not, however, forget my advice, be assured that I speak in 
perfect sincerity, when I tell you that you have more powers 
of conversation than you believe yourself to possess, but that 
they will wither and decay if you do not make use of them. 
Let me find you " enjouee" when I return, and I assure you 
that it is a most important branch of a woman's duty to 
contribute to the cheerfulness of her family circle. 

I have read many of Wesley's sermons during our journey. 
I mention this to shew your dear father that I at least try to 
begin well. I think constantly of his kind and excellent 
religious instructions : when can I hear them again from 
his own lips. I need not tell you what I felt in hearing the 
last sermon at the dear Church of Fethard. I may not write 
more, but believe me, my dear Melesina, 

Your affectionate friend. 

Pray remember me to Mr. Woodward and all your circle. 

MY DEAR MELISINA, I wrote to you from Holyhead a 
letter for which a school girl should have been put in the 
corner, but it was penned amidst the hurry and bustle of 
setting out for Mona, amidst the interruptions of settling 
with an innkeeper, in changing Irish money, teazed by being 
summoned to dine, to attend to the importunities of a Welsh 
harper, and the advice of everybody in a breath. Pray tell 
Mr. Woodward that we travelled with one pair of horses 


(except for the distance of thirty miles where the inns being 
solitary and the people arbitrary they made us take four 
horses, but the leaders did nothing), and we really moved 
faster with a pair. I am pleased with my own economy, and 
the roads are so good that as we had no luggage I felt no 
scruple on account of the animals that drew us. We went 
to church at Oxford, heard a sermon at St. Mary's which 
might have been preached in a pagan country. It was a 
tolerably good essay on the immortality of the soul, Plato 
and Socrates were quoted more frequently than the New 
Testament ; but then it was not term time, and our Principal 
apologized for the inferiority of the preacher. I did most 
highly disapprove of the doctor's leaving Church before 
prayers, and I was not at all edified by the " Let us pray " 
for the names and dignitaries which preceded the discourse. 

We were obliged to travel after Church because Mrs. 
Principal's father being ill, our stay at her house would have 
been inconvenient, and they thought themselves obliged to 
prohibit our dining at the inn. I hope we committed no sin 
in travelling on Sunday ; I felt uncomfortable in doing it, 
but it seemed to me the least of two evils. We had besides 
several reasons for our wish to reach London. We passed 
but one day there, devoting it to the toil of shopping, and 
were glad to leave its smoky dingy atmosphere for the pure 
air here, and the kind friends who rejoiced in welcoming us, 
the scene by which we are surrounded, is truly English. 

The smoothly mown lawn, the calm still water, and beyond 
it a richly wooded, highly cultivated country, intersected by 
neat hedge rows, backed by the gently swelling hills of Kent, 
in the middle distance the village church, and tall wind mills, 
the roofs and some of the houses just peeping among the 
trees. Yesterday we passed up the church aisle between 
rows of little boys in snow white waggoner frocks, the elder 
peasants arrayed in the same garb, sometimes of a dark color, 


but always exquisitely clean. Yalding has lost nothing of 
its simplicity, the farmers retain their early hours, and their 
daughters with all their finery manufacture their own pies. 
My cousin is very much beloved in the parish, he prays by 
the sick and relieves the wants of the poor. All his time is 
devoted to the business of religion, and although he is some- 
times impelled by the voice of his father to leave his sermons 
or his Bible to play a rubber, it is quite evident that he gives 
up a real pleasure and yields to what he believes a duty, and 
being opposed to his own inclinations he does not consider it 
a sin. I am very sorry that with all his excellence he is 
unreasonably prejudiced against the Evangelicals. Judging 
of them by some vulgar emissaries, he suspects that their 
mode of enforcing certain doctrines leads to Antinomianism. 
He has met with some amongst the lower orders who had 
misunderstood their opinions, and persisting that they have 
been born again, and under grace, do not scruple to get 
drunk and break God's law in many instances. He maintains 
that whilst those of the party who have been blessed with a 
superior education, endeavour to shew their faith by its fruits, 
the humble peasant who has lent an ear to their doctrine 
imagines that a barren belief secures his entrance into heaven. 
You may be sure that I combat all these opinions, which 
proceed from his ignorance of the religious world, but he 
has not been accustomed to argue, and only mildly repeats 
that much mischief is done by their interference in parishes. 
I do not extend the good opinion I entertained for Richard 
to a certain rubicund clergyman who dined here the other 
day, who told good stories against the saints, and interrupted 
whatever I said by a joke ; he sneered at Bible Societies, 
and talked of orthodoxy until I longed to ask him whether 
orthodoxy meant playing at cards, and attending balls and 
plays, but I did not dare through fear of my uncle. The 
same rubicund clergyman related that one day Lady - 


having observed in a large party that they might feel proud 
of being English, the saint said, that pride was not made for 
man, and some other person remarking of an absent indivi- 
dual that he was an honest good-hearted fellow, Mr. 

informed the company that " in the heart of man there 
dwells no good thing." I was beginning to say that from 

the high opinion I had always heard expressed of Mr. 's 

understanding I should not have expected such injudicious 
conduct, and here my witty opponent interrupted me by 
asserting that the expression I had used was the same that 
had been used by the Dean of Carlisle, and that it was a 
party term, that Evangelicals possessed a sort of freemasonry 
by which they might be distinguished, and then laughing at 
his own brilliancy, he slided off to the whist table. All the 
aspersions which have been cast on the Evangelical party 
have even more determined me to identify myself with them 
and labour with all my might to convince Richard that they 
really preach morality as the fruits of faith. Having said so 
much against my rubicund friend I must add that he is said 
to be very attentive to his parochial duties and to preach 
good sermons, but he breathes too much port wine and good 
cheer to be considered religious by me. Richard says that 
it is pharisaical for me to say so, but I have a great deal of 
religious conversation with my amiable aunt and Sarah and 
Margaret ; they are deeply impressed with the subject, quite 
inattentive to it except the accustomed forms. We all read 
the four lessons for the day together, and the Psalms, and 
sometimes I read out one of Chalmer's Sermons to the ladies, 
George and Strother engaged in their studies in another room, 
Richard absent on his parochial duties, uncle fidgeting from 
room to room setting us all to rights. Margaret tells me 

that if the Dean of Rochester had been at , as be is a 

very popular preacher, my uncle would have teazed me into 
going to hear him that he might have scolded me all the even- 


ing for leaving the parish church ; but, however, he has had 
the comfort of giving me lectures long and frequent about my 
driving all the way to Fethard Church fatiguing my horses, 
and travelling about instead of walking quietly into Clonmel. 
As I have no excuse to offer which he would understand, 
my only resource is in silence, or in some good-humoured 
reply or laugh at some of his oft repeated witticisms on the 
subject of itching ears, &c. He is a very good man, his 
principles good, and his heart kind, but with a tiresome and 
defective temper. I am often reminded of my own aphorism : 
" That while men value trifles for the sake of the trifles 
themselves, women only value them for their effect on men, 
or their temper, or on their feelings." I have not been in- 
duced in the most remote degree to part with any of the 
maxims of strictness, which I had laid down ; on the contra- 
ry having lost the good spirits which I had when you have 
seen me, I am never tempted into light gay conversation ; 
but I am always composed. There is no object of excite- 
ment here, sometimes peculiar circumstances bring back in 
all its vivacity the grief which I felt at the loss of my 
darling boy, whom I never forget ; of this nature was a visit 

from my Wells aunt, who brought the little cousin with 

whom my lost angel used to play, the sight of him affected 
me extremely. But I do not allow any depression of spirits 
to prevent me from contributing my share to the amusement 
or interest of the party. I remember that where cheerful- 
ness is not a gift its exercise becomes a duty; there is 
always I mean a necessity for exertion. We may not indulge 
our own feelings to the annoyance of others this is the 
sacrifice woman pays for her exemption from some of the 
toils of life ; her sphere lies within the limit of her own fire- 
side, and something more than mere passive obedience is 
required ; there must be the exertion of unfailing good 
humour, and constant attention to please. Happy then are 


they who have an object to please ! who is capable of re- 
warding their efforts and of appreciating them ? who exhibits 
neither caprice nor ill humour? who is so consistent that 
what will please him to-day, must please him to-morrow? 
so good, that rendering yourself acceptable to him, you 
render yourself acceptable to God. This, dear Miss Wood- 
ward, is your happy case, how pleasant to have an object to 
study to please, and who deserves more than we can bestow. 
You are happy in having such a father, and I trust you do 
appreciate the blessing ; if anything could brighten the con- 
ception I entertain of it, the comparison with others, which 
forces itself on me does but elevate to the loftiest summit, 
my respect and admiration for dear Mr. Woodward. I 
could say much on the subject of my own deep regret for 
having left you all, but I have written to amuse and not 
depress. I shall be so happy to return to you again, and I 
do not cease to look forward to our meeting. I hope we 
shall be a great deal together. Let me know if you find 
any difficulty in deciphering my epistles ; I am anxious for 
a reply to a volume which I addressed to Mr. Woodward. 
Believe me my dear Melesina, 

Your affectionate friend. 

Remember me affectionately to Mr. Woodward and Miss 

Darby. has prejudiced Richard against me, by 

telling him of my having joined in abusing the clergy; the 
high Church are abominably pharisaical, they consider me 
as a dissenter ; I was quite affronted last night. 

April, 28th, 

MY DEAR MELESINA, I am quite ashamed of having 
suffered so much time to elapse without writing to you, but 
this has not proceeded from any disinclination to the em- 
ployment, but that I did not think myself entitled to despatch 


so many letters to the same family when I did not procure 
franks; although I am always happy to receive a letter, but 
as I do hear people not otherwise over prudent complain of 
postage, I conclude that I must not be too liberal with my 
epistles. We found a very large family party at Tunbridge 
Wells, but the " soirees " were very troublesome. A regular 
emigration taking place in moving from one house to another 
accompanied by our means of employment. I found a great 
interruption very little suited to my oyster like inclination, 
which always indisposes me to a change of place except 
when impelled by some powerful attraction. After our 
return from Eltham, there was some interest in sketching 
excursions performed in different kinds of vehicles. One 
warm day to avoid walking, we all moved on donkeys, and 
made rather a ludicrous appearance, our long Spanish cloaks 
covering the animals completely except their feet, so as to 

convey the idea of monsters exhibited on the stage. 

had no cheerfulness except what we contributed, its chief 
merit consisted in the advantage of doing as we pleased, 
but I have sometimes doubted whether this Republican mode 
has not more disadvantages than comforts, different interests 
require a head to direct them, &c. I sometimes sighed after 
the dictatorship of the " padrone" of this abode ; when no 
two people composing our democracy, could agree on the 
important topics of " where we should go," and how we 
should go when an excursion was planned still the re- 
straint which is cast over this family party when is 

present, makes us regret the freedom of the other society, 
but when he is away we all breathe more freely and talk 
louder. He is so very kind-hearted, hospitable and friendly, 
that I pity him for the restraint his presence occasions. I 
pity him for being deprived of the comforts of equal inter- 
course. The have been away, and only returned last 

week ; I dined there yesterday by myself to meet a very 


large family party; and I felt quite dejected at the idea of 
going, for I think to be a stranger amongst a large family 
party gives one a very chilling sensation. But I was pressed 

to meet the lively and talented Mrs. who was a Miss 

, and therefore I went ; she is very handsome and 

agreeable. I prefer her infinitely to the whole family put 
together, not excepted ; she is so ingenuous, no mea- 
sured expression, she always speaks exactly what she 
thinks : 

" She studies not the meanest to eclipse, 
And yet the wisest listen to her lips." 

I felt very sorry when the gentlemen came in to share in 

the conversation which Mrs. , and I held with Lady 

; poor Mr. had no opportunity to introduce 

his stories about death beds and amputations. Mrs. 

says that is constantly startled at her sayings, and 

she longs to beat him for showing that he is so ; he is to take 
orders next month to the great disappointment of his own 
family, who meant him to be prime minister. I said that he 
had done right, for I believe that he had ambition to be 
mortified, and he had wisely done it himself, but from every- 
thing I have seen and heard, I think that his change of pro- 
fession proceeds from want of perseverance, and that he 

would not. like the drudgery of the law. Lady who 

seems to me the soul of ambition, consoles herself with the 
idea of his being distinguished as a popular preacher. I 
can trace through the religious varnish the worldly coloring 
which distinguishes all her motives, or I am much mistaken 
in suspecting it. I would give something for the power of 
believing sometimes in appearance ; when people talk to me 
of their desire that any member of their family should be of 
service to their religion, I sometimes suspect their motive 
when the desire is strongly connected with the gratification 
of human pride. I would have them honestly confess the 


motives by which they are guided. I think we should con- 
form ourselves to true vital religion, not make it conform to 
us ; but this people will not do whilst they conform to the 
world. What signifies the renunciation of its gaieties, whilst 
they hold to its petty objects of false glory? Upon the 

whole, since I have learned to look upon Lady as on 

any other lady, without seeking for anything out of the way, 
she improves on me as a companion, she is decidedly clever. 

Miss is at , she is pretty, but too reserved to 

please much on a first acquaintance. She and are 

the only unmarried persons in this family ; I have seen two 

of the married brothers with their wives, and Lord 

has shewn the best taste in his choice. Everybody who 
belongs to the good is flying up to London to attend the 
religious meetings, which Jane long ago settled to be their 
dissipation. I am afraid that three with whom I am ac- 
quainted are somewhat disposed to blame me for not going 
also, but as I must be here a certain time, I do not choose to 
do anything which would unnecessarily delay my return. 
If the meetings had not taken place until we were passing 
through London I might have been able to go to some 
as we must pass two or three days there, but I believe all 
those that would be interesting will be over before the 14th, 
which will be our day for setting out on our return home. 
I am sure you will all be glad to see us, and Jonathan will 
forgive us for showing that we are better than he intended 
us to be. 

Mr. Woodward knows why I have deferred my return. 
I am very impatient to see you all to renew our former 
interesting conversations. Jane says I am more demented 
than ever. I can fancy the delight with which I shall see 
you all at dear Newtown, everything looking green and 
fresh and beautiful, the room perfumed with flowers those 
beautiful presents which God seems to bestow on us to 


gratify our tastes in decoration at a small expense, and in a 
way which is open to the poor as well as the rich. It is 
sweet to me, the gay little gardens which surround every 
cottage here, the wallflowers seem to blow more luxuriantly 
here on the cottage walls, than in the borders of the rich, 
the whole country breathes all the fragrance of a Kentish 
spring; the cherry orchards white with blossom, the neat 
hedge rows in their fresh green, and the nightingales in full 
song seem to speak cheerfulness and comfort ; do you know 
that pretty song of Rogers', which has this verse : 

" The village church among the trees, 
Where first our marriage vows were given, 
With merry peals shall swell the breeze, 
And point the taper spire to heaven." 

They were all going out for an evening walk, but I pre- 
ferred staying at home to write to you and dear Mr. Wood- 
ward. The more you could see of the world the more you 
would be convinced of the kindness of Providence in giving 
you such a father, he must always shine by comparison. I 
find that I have grown more fastidious in judging the ex- 
cellence, the talents, and agreeableness of men since I have 
known him. I have not met with anyone whose society I 
have been able to prize. Going about to different places as 
I have done lately it is curious to observe the difference that 
a few miles create in the objects of interest in different 
families, all appearing equally frivolous to the bystanders, 
and equally important to the actors, whilst the only subject 
that would be equally interesting to all is generally left out 

entirely, or, in fact, just simply glanced at. Mrs. 

seems very pious and joyous too. I think she is in natural 
character a most flattering likeness of me, but no delusion 
of self love could veil from me her superiority. I 
have talked to you of the spring and the nightingales, and 
the ... I have not much news to give you, unless I 


were to tell you of an election for a coroner, or any other 
branch of rural politics. I pass my time chiefly in drawing ; 
albums are as voracious as ever, when I wish to take 
sketches of the scenery of early youth, besides the family 
is too large and talkative to allow of much reasoning read- 

D C3) 

ing. I don't find that I gain many new ideas. I want a 
few sparks to be elicited by the attractive influence of the 
circle of Fethard Glebe. I continue to fill my pages with 
nothing, and I almost fear that this precious epistle will be 
difficult to decipher, although I am not guilty of such bad 
taste as to apologise for it, according to a rule I received 
from my dear old English master, when I was very little. 
I heard of his death with grief. When I was at Chief 
Justice Best's my cousin Caroline learned of him, and 
speaks of him with great regard ; but it is probable he never 
had such an enthusiastic admirer among his pupils as I. 
The only quarrel I ever had with Margaret Warde was about 
his name, which I would not allow her to call ugly. I heard 
of Eliza Riall's death with great pain. I did not expect to 
feel it so much, having seen so little of her, but there 
is always something affecting in the death of the young. I 

cannot learn to speak of death like Mr. , to whom 

a deathbed is as gratifying a scene as to an undertaker; the 
one carries the throes, the agonies, the mental struggles of 
the dying to the dinner table of his friends, the other their 
bodies to the grave. Let us exult in the expected joys of 
heaven, but do not let us sadden the hours of social inter- 
course, by dwelling on the last mortal throbs ; besides it may 
have a pernicious effect on certain minds. I can quite con- 
ceive Miss on her deathbed so anxious not to be 

outdone in assurance, as to send for the whole county of 
Cork to view her triumphant exit, glorying in the interest 
which the published account of her death would excite. 
You see I have not forgotten that lady yet, mind when she 


pays you a visit that I am to be asked to meet her. 1 will 
try to rally her out of her presumption, I am afraid I speak 
too lightly, but I mean no harm, and Mr. Woodward is not 
so strict towards others as the dabblers in religion, who show 
their own piety by censuring others for their deficiencies. I 
think too much of that prevails in the religious world ; they 
decide instantly who are and who are not religious, and 
condemn indiscriminately as persons out of the pale of Chris- 
tianity all who do not attend Bible meetings. 

Anna is at this moment pitying you for having to read so 
long a letter, and she does not know how prosy it is. Well, 
we will be very agreeable at Newtown. I shall be so glad, 
so very happy to have you all there again. Good-bye, my 
dear Melesina, give my love to Miss Darby and Jonathan. 
I hope he will be as glad to see us return as he was grieved 
for our departure. I do not hold the doctrine, that painful 
sensations are stronger than pleasurable ones, where the 
shadows are deepest the light must be proportionately 

Yours most truly and affectionately, 


MY DEAR AUNT I will not let Jane's frank go without a 
few lines from me to express the strong hope I have that my 
uncle will not forget his promise to take into consideration 
the possibility of visiting Ireland next year, and if possible 
to carry it into effect. I am anxious to shew him that we 
can promise him at least as much variety and the same 
inducements we had before. I shall always remember with 
gratitude the kindness and hospitality with which he treated 
us during our very long visit. 

I felt very sorry to part with you all; with friends so 
affectionate and in whom the tie of relationship serves as a 
strengthener to friendship which has been formed from 


infancy, and seems entwined in our being, but I hope we 
shall meet before long a journey now, however long is a 
mere party of pleasure. 

Mr. Gordon passed yesterday evening with us ; he is as 
violent against popery as ever, but he professes to have 
become more charitable. I expect the carriage back to take 
us out every minute, so that but a little time remains for 
me to write. We do not go through Oxford as it would 
be thirty miles out of our way to Bath, which I arn anxious 
to see, and besides we may embark at Bristol, but this is a 
point to be determined there. I learned the unpleasant 
accident which happened to your carriage with much regret, 
but it is so very providential that you were not hurt, that we 
have still more cause for thanksgiving than for regret. 

I must say good bye as I go to prepare for setting out. 
Your most affectionate niece, 


Jane is gone out bonnet hunting for you. I leave my 
mother to lament over the loss of our trunk. 

MY DEAR Arxr "We have not as usual to commence our 
letter with a simple detail of a quiet easy removal from one 
abode to another in these days of comfortable travelling, for 
we really have met with more adventures than one : two by 
water and one by land. We were detained for some hours 
at the Severn ferry waiting for the tide, and then the 
passage was so rough that one side of the boat lay in the 
water and we were all excessivelv frightened with the ex- 
ception of Anna who enjoyed the motion. The passage is 
three miles long and sometimes very dangerous, but it was 
curious to see the contempt of the sailors for our alarm ; in 
vain I entreated to be put on shore, and mv mother told 
them that they could save themselves bv swimming whilst ire 


must be drowned. " No, ma'am," said he at the helm, " we 
will all share the same fate." However, we all reached the 
shore in safety ; but the boatmen would not bring over the 
carriage until next morning, so we had nothing to do but 
wait patiently. In the midst of my prayers for safety I 
found myself during the passage repeating these lines, 

" Now who be ye who cross Loch Gyle, 

This dark aiid stormy water ? 
O, I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, 
And this Lord UUin's daughter." 

We could not reach Milford Haven, however, before Friday- 
night, and we sailed the next morning. We had scarcely 
cleared the harbour before we heard the vessel was turned back 
because the engine was out of order ; I felt both alarmed 
and disappointed at the intelligence, but they fastened the 
vessel to a hulk and set about repairing her ; we sailed again 
at eleven o'clock with a contrary wind, and after proceeding 
four hours, I saw the captain with a most ominous expres- 
sion beckon to have the sails put up. I suspected the mis- 
fortune which had occurred, but a faint hope led me to ask, 
" if the wind had changed, since they could use the sail." 
" No," said the captain, " but the engine is out of order 
again and we are going back." I cannot describe the agony 
of terror which seized me, the sea sickness left me directly 
and I thought only of being blown up by the explosion of 
steam. My mother was spared this fright by being in the 
cabin, but she had the grief of learning that we had returned 
to Milford, and that all her sufferings had gone for nothing. 
After passing eleven hours in the steam packet we had to 
land at the point from which we started, we had all been 
very sick, and it was no pleasant prospect to undergo the 
same on Monday. I blustered a great deal about the acci- 
dent blamed the captain, counselled Mr. Leech, the agent 
employed by Government to superintend all the vessels ; he 

VOL. I. I 


was however very civil and altered the routine of the packets 
to accommodate me, sending the newest and most approved 
vessel on Monday at my request. We had a passage of 
eleven hours, suffering dreadfully from sea-sickness, for the 

wind blew a storm. There was a little lively Mr. , a 

nephew of the banker, who attached himself to our party ; 
he would talk to me when I was more dead than alive and 
longing to get rid of him ; he congratulated himself on the 
fineness of the vessel, the glory of the waves, and above all, 
his good fortune in meeting with us ; he was very civil and 
attentive, and Anna liked him she being less sick than I. 
He followed us even to the cabin when we were in our 
berths, chitter chatter incessantly. 

I have not yet done with our perils, after having brought 
the carriage safely over the narrow rough roads of South 
Wales, on the fine broad road between Dunmore and Water- 
ford the spokes of the wheels were split, in consequence of 
the driver running a race with one of Bianconi's cars. They 
persisted in spite of our screams and entreaties to stop, the 
driver crossing to intercept the car, to the extreme danger 
of our lives and the passengers legs. One of them caught 
hold of the carriage to save his, and if our prayers had not 
prevailed with the car driver I know not what would have 
happened, he gave up the point, but in the concussion two of 
my carriage wheels are spoiled. W'hen Thomas scolded our 
post-boy for his conduct, his reply was, " Sure, I was not 
going to let a common car with a parcel of pig- drivers get 
before a lady's carriage," and thus to this idle pride we might 
all have been sacrificed. We arrived here this morning, 
and we feel very grateful to Providence for our many 
escapes. My mother still complains of sea-sickness, but the 
rest of us have recovered although it is only now that I have 
lost the feeling. I learned with great regret that Mr. 
Woodward is in Dublin, I had my fears that it would be so. 


He is gone up to celebrate his daughter's marriage with 
Mr. Crofton, it takes place the day after to-morrow. Mr. 
Crofton is a very amiable young clergyman, and the match 
exactly meets the wishes of the friends of each party. He is 
nephew of the Mr. Dunne who married Miss Thomson of 
Grosvenor-square, making the strange renunciation of her 
fortune. By-the-bye, I enquired about Mr. Parnell who sold 
a large estate in compliance with that text of Scripture, 
" Sell all that thou hast and give to the poor." It was done 
as I supposed with all due precaution, devoted to permanent 
public charities, he has reserved for himself 150 a year. 
These particulars I learned from Mr. Gordon the fact is well 
known; these are genuine fruits of religious charity practised 
by important sacrifices. I cannot think without pain that so 
great a distance of sea and land lies between us, but I hope 
my uncle will remember his promise to think about bringing 
you all over next year. I grieve that we do not live nearer. 
This place is in great beauty. The flower beds gay with 
ranunculuses, anemonies, Persian iris, stocks, &c., numbers of 
cabbage roses blown ; the laburnums are already in seed, 
except the large-leaved late laburnum that blows beautifully. 
Strother has gained the prize for classics and a scholarship. 
Mr. Chevalier speaks very highly of his abilities, he was 
second in mathematics. Little Catherine and Hacket were 
mutually delighted at their meeting. Strother has been here 
two days, he talks more than he did and is much improved. 
Hackett has been displaying her wonders to me all day. 
She has had all the curtain linings newly dyed ; and 
Prudence has been shewing me her diaper darns in the table 
cloths, to resemble the pattern. Then I have engaged a 
laundry maid, and talked to Kearney, and done a great 
deal, besides writing to Mr. Woodward, and fretting over his 
absence ; and my mother has been down in her night cap 
and dressing gown to tell me that it is twelve o'clock. 


Give my love to Uncle Warde, and tell him that his little 
favorite often talks of him, and so she does of you all. She 
suffered less in the packet than any of us. Strother was as 
long coming from Holy head as we were from Milford ; ours 
was a very fine vessel. I ought to tell you that the result of 
my enquiries about the steam engine has been to prove that 
we were not in the smallest danger on Saturday: we might 
have been stopped, but could not have been blown up. The 
accident which occurred, was owing to the machinery being 
old. The vessel we tried will be condemned. Good night, 
with love from everybody to everybody, 
Believe me, my dear aunt, 

Your affectionate niece, 


" The following letter, by referring to the Bishops of that 
time, ought to prove the vast change for the better, that the 
present day exhibits in the bench of bishops, for it would be 
difficult to deny the truth of Lady Osborne's remarks on 
some bishops, judging by their records." 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I shall not be able to procure a 
frank for this letter, as you know that franks cannot be pro- 
cured until after the election, the Peers have lost their pri- 
vilege until that period. I can enter into your feelings 
about temptation increasing as years increase, for I have 
often found it so. The best advice I can give is one I am 
resolved to follow, it is, to place the standard of Christian 
attainment very high, and to keep up constant watchfulness 
and prayer to obtain it ; not to be discouraged by repeated 
failures, but as often as you fall get up again. 

I have met in the course of my life two very pious men, 
one in very humble life, both of whom on being asked in a 
very serious manner have admitted, with deep thankfulness, 


that they have been enabled by Divine grace to subdue all 
defects of temper. I felt this to be great encouragement. 
I well know they spoke the truth ; what has been done for 
others may be done for us, except by our own fault. Another 
piece of advice I must give you is, to resign the follies of 
the world, such pursuits as you cannot ask God's blessing 
upon. I do not think that any person can be really and 
happily religious who does not renounce card playing, the- 
atres, and all other pursuits where Christ is not. We must 
also keep clear, as much as possible, of trifling conversation, 
particularly such as where sin enters, as unkind constructions 
upon the thoughts or motives of others. 1 am sure whilst 
we keep any darling sin we shall never obtain the blessings 
of sanctification. God expects us to help ourselves, he does 
not force His grace upon us. I think we all compromise too 
much license in conversation, when we must give an account 
of every idle word we speak; we must not only seek, but 
strive, or, as the Greek have it, " agonize" to enter into the 
kingdom of heaven. My conscience is wounded when I 
write ; how have I agonized, what have I done ? Nothing ! 
nothing ! My Saviour died for me, but he- did not die to save 
us merely from the punishment of sin. No, but from the 
power of sin, we must be new creatures. I am not a new 
creature, I want holiness. How I must seek and pray, and 
strive to obtain it; believe me that watchfulness, prayer, and 
earnest endeavour are necessary. I have been hitherto the 
weakest and idlest of believers,, one far removed from the 
blessing of full redemption. 

One of the good men I spoke of was a poor miner at 
Bomnahon ; the other is a gentleman, who had been for years 
in the army, a captain, and became converted to God. 
Whilst he lived with his family it was all well, although he 
underwent great persecution in the regiment, but when he 
went abroad he could not endure the conversation of the 


mess ; he left the army, and became a Wesleyan preacher. 
He is an Englishman, married to the daughter of the 
Irish Colonel who was killed in the rebellion; he has sons 
at Cambridge and one at Eton. He is one of the most 
polished gentlemen I ever saw in my life, but that is the 
least of his merits, he is the happiest Christian, his religion 
makes him so happy; it is not the treasure in the field, 
but the rich pearl which he carries about with him. His 
visit has done me great good, for I had been losing ground. 
He seems to feel a love for the soul of every human being, 
and certainly the Wesleyans have more of that than the 

Calvinists. His name is ; if you ever meet him, court 

his acquaintance. Mr. Woodward was delighted with him. 
He was at Maidstone some time since, but has left it, as the 
Wesleyan preachers do not remain more than two years in 
one place. 

Catherine is, thank God, quite well. If we should ever 
travel, is it not better that she should go whilst she is young 
enough to be kept out of the world, than when she is too old 
to be so easily managed ? She will be less tempted now than 
she would be some years hence. I see no harm in visiting 
occasionally other countries. God is every where, and there are 
pious Protestants even in France. Aunt Warde herself went 
to Boulogne ; why should she think it wrong in me to go to 
Paris? If it appeared to me wrong I would not go. I hope 
that dear Aunt Warde's health improves, her intellect is as 
acute and vigorous as ever. Nobody writes better letters. 
May we all meet in health. I look forward with great plea- 
sure to having you all with me in London. I shall I hope 
stay over the May meetings. I am afraid my letter will not 
be very interesting to you. I really have nothing to say of 
our party, we go nowhere, I have such a reluctance to leave 

I have given up all my acquaintances except a few friends, 


and even those I seldom visit. I go to Derryluskan about 
once in three months. I attend Mr. Woodward's lectures 
every Wednesday, but never sleep at Fethard. The times 
really are very awful. The revolutionary spirit in England 
and the O'Connell spirit here, and popish spirit too. By-the- 
bye, a very nice young Englishwoman applied to me for a 
situation who had been perverted to popery, in England too; 
she comes from the diocese of Norwich. . . . Will you 
be very angry if I say that the Bishops are seldom, O how 
seldom, pious men. I believe a clergyman being pious is a 
great obstacle to his advancement. I know some sad facts 
of the kind. However, many pious men have been raised up 
in the Church ; and we hope their prayers may avert its 
downfall. The Church Building Act is a very bad one, 
which the Bishop of London is trying to bring in. 

Pray give my love to my uncle, aunt and cousins. 
Believe me, my dear Margaret, 

Your affectionate cousin, 


Pray read the Polynesian Researches. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I have not yet had an opportunity 
of making any enquiry about the family you mentioned, I 
shall be able to set enquiries on foot to-morrow, please God, 
when I intend to indulge myself by going to Fethard Church. 
I shall ask Mr. Woodward to have the questions put in the 
proper channels, and see if anything can be done for them 
in different ways. I have not seen him since I heard 
from you, as I never move out of this neighbourhood. I 
have no acquaintances beyond it, Mr. and Mrs. Woodward 
have a great many. I have not much hope of anything very 
material being done to assist this poor family here ; every 
body having so many claims, and for the ordinary class of 


rich people, the worldly, they would rather assist a popish 
priest than the orphan family of a protestant minister ; I am 
sick of the despicable time-serving system of the country; I 
will myself subscribe for this poor family, but what is the 
use of a temporary subscription; I wish something per- 
manent could be done. It is a curious fact that nothing is 
so difficult as to procure situations, even of the lowest descrip- 
tion, far less such as would suit the well educated. I assure 
you I feel at times quite heart-broken at knowing there are 
people ready to do anything, for whom I cannot procure the 
humblest situation. My out servants generally consist of 
young, untrained people, whom we have to teach their 
business, but I cannot persuade any body to take those 
who are not ready trained when my own establishment is 

I cannot conceive how servants are ever made, as nobody 
in the whole world will ever take the first of them but myself. 
These thoughts are full in my mind from the disturbance 
I have about the family of my late schoolmaster. It is dis- 
tressing not to be able to procure a place for any of them, a 
widow and seven children, and nothing to subsist upon but 
the small pension which I allow them ; he was one year with 
me and then died, leaving the family destitute. 

1 have no doubt about the dangers of the Church, and I 
think the Bishops have had a great hand in bringing it on ; 
had they lent their assistance to the popular religious societies 
I think they would have won all hearts to the Church, and 
have kept off dissent ; they would have had such sway in 
the societies, large assemblies must have a great deal of 
worldly feeling, the rank and influence of the bishops would 
have given them weight, but their foolish jealousy kept 
them out, and they are now nothing but the mere " tools" 
of a party ; they will vote as ministers wish on this reform 
question ; should their order be put down they may say with 


Cardinal Wolsey, " Had I served my God as I have served 
my king He would not now have forsaken me." . . . 

I cannot give you a good account of my own state of mind, 
I have been leading a very selfish life, sadly so, quite 
devoted to study; you know with some interruptions, this 
has always been my bias, it is now quite a passion, and I 
sometimes lament that I must see so many people to take up 
my time from my beloved classics. Then again, my con- 
science goads me what is the use of all this? What an 
useless being am I? And yet, when I consider the intellec- 
tual improvement amongst the lower orders, it seems as if 
Providence expected from us that we should cultivate our 
abilities to keep ahead of them. There is a hedge school 
near this where Hebrew is taught, and a ragged boy came 
to Mr. Woodward to borrow a Cicero and Livy, in the 

Catherine has a slight cold, and though it is trifling, yet it 
makes my heart ache, I have such a horror of a cough ; take 
my advice and don't neglect George's, of such long stand- 
ing, remember what I told you of Tom Fitzgerald, and 
lungs which are delicate; it is consumption that I dread 
beyond anything tell me of fever, anything but consump- 

I have written you a long, and not interesting, letter; 
writing is not my forte ; I can talk better than write ; I 
never had so little relish for society as at present. It is quite 
a source of regret to me that I cannot help seeing a great 
deal of company from peculiar circumstances, yet I never, 
or very seldom, go from home, and I redeem time by my 
early rising: accordingly, my diligence is rewarded by 
making progress in my studies, but, alas! I do not gain 
ground in religion ; I feel that I live for myself, and not for 
others. I trust in God that I shall find dear Aunt Warde 
well when we go to England. Poor Margaret Barren, how 


I pity her going to Scotland, she seems to feel it so much. 
Take care of your health, it is a religious duty. May God 
send us a happy meeting. Remember me affectionately to 
Mrs. Baines. 

Your most affectionate cousin, 


You have afforded me the greatest pleasure by telling me 
that I live in Mrs. Baines and Fanny's memory. 

" Nothing but living in Ireland could enable anyone to 
understand the power of the priests, for once people invest 
mere human beings with infallibility there must be an end to 
all liberty and certain rectitude. 

All Lady Osborne's efforts for the good of her neighbours 
were met by the most violent and unceasing opposition on 
their part." 

Newtown Anner, Oct. 2. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I have a very good apology to make for 
not answering your last letter, but at the same time some 
reason for suppressing the apology, though I believe I may as 
well tell the whole at once. The fact is, I have been ill almost 
ever since my mother went away, but am now, thank God, 
recovered. I did not wish her to know it for fear of making 
her uneasy. I had a very severe cold which confined me to 
my own room, indeed for some days to my bed ; though, 
indeed, I think the people about me made more fuss than the 
cause deserved. I was, however, admirably nursed and 
attended. You know how strong my Protestant feelings 
are so strong that I am constantly tempted to treat 
popery with opprobrium and contempt; but I do not 
agree with you in wishing that emancipation should be with- 
held from the Roman Catholics. I think if half of the Irish 
members were papists they could do no harm against the 


protestant host; and so many well disposed persons of our 
religion desire emancipation for the Romish cause, that they 
are prevented from discouraging the agitators belonging to 
that anti-christian church ; and I think when once the only 
reasonable grounds of complaint have been ceded to them, 
we shall find all good protestants united under one banner. 
Nor do I consider their admission to an equality of poli- 
tical rights as at all affecting religion. Alas ! no political 
body can set up so holy a standard as to be enabled to ex- 
clude the admission of error. We can neither reject the 
infidel nor the Socinian, why then must we refuse the 
papist? Lord Donoughmore says he knows quite well the 
party will not be satisfied with emancipation ; but he says 
they have a right to it, and if we must fight them, let us 
fight them when we are right, and not when we are wrong. 
He said to some of the leaders of the Association who 
dined at Knocklofty, " You call yourselves the Irish Nation ; 
why the rank of the country is Protestant, the wealth Pro- 
testant, almost all the talent, and nearly all the integrity of 
the country Protestant, how then can Ireland be a Roman 
Catholic nation "? My own opinion is, that emancipation 
will afford the system rope enough to hang itself. In some 
respects I like the Brunswick Club, and I glory in the pro- 
testant spirit which my own dear country has evinced ; and 
although I consider emancipation as very desirable, I feel 
tempted to prefer the members who vote against it ; in short 
my reason is for it and feelings against it. 

The country is now quite quiet, and with God's help will 
continue so. Mrs. Carey came to see me in my room the other 
day. Pray tell Anna that she regretted very much Killaloan's 
loss in her. Mr. Woodward told me of his little joke about 
the parish, in a letter to her, which I send with this. The 
Pennefathers and Mrs. Riall regret her going very much. 
I have been, and am still, in a great dilemma about Madame 


de ; my mother will tell you all the reason I have 

for parting with her, but her manners have become so 
bland from the fear of losing her situation, that I cannot 
find it in my heart to do what I know to be my duty in 
dismissing her ; but Catherine's mixed feelings of contempt 
and dislike furnish another very weighty reason for sending 
her away. It is a sad thing that such unchristian feelings 
should be associated in a child's mind with her governess. 
She is I fear an artful woman, not religious, nor does she 
profess that integrity and solid principle which will constitute 
a fine character in the eyes of man. She has lived in the 
family of a. fox hunting clergyman, and of course this house 
must be little to her taste, quiet and retired as we are in our 
habits. On second thoughts I will send Mr. Woodward's 
letter to London in case my mother should go there first ; 
I envy her and Anna the happy meetings they will have 
with you and all our dear friends. Sarah will be sorry to 
hear that her travelling companion has lost his wife. Mrs. 
Hancock was the daughter of my friend Mrs. Strangman ; 
on her account I am very sorry. Mrs. H. has left six 

Catherine has behaved very amiably and affectionately to 
me in my illness. She is a very dear little girl, and has a 
great deal of good sense and feeling. 

Anna will present Margaret with a copy of Doddridge 
from me. It is a work which cannot be read too often, and 
I hope she will like it. 

I beg that you will give my best love to my uncle and 
cousins, and believe me, my dear aunt, with the deepest and 
most unchangeable affection, 




MY DEAR AUNT, My mother says truly that meetings are 
the dissipations of the religious world ; but is it not well that 
there should be such an end, such an object in view in an 
assembly of professing Christians, such an acknowledgment 
that God reigns where people meet to speak of the circulation 
of His word, the spread of His Gospel, whilst He is at least 
left out of the question in a ball room. The speech of the 
Jew was very interesting; he is an extraordinary young 
man; he gave us a short history of his conversion, which 
was very gratifying the meeting was held in the church, it 
was a Church Missionary meeting, even James was highly 
pleased with the speeches ; we all thought it too short. The 
Bishop of Waterford has issued a prohibition against any 

clergyman out of his diocese preaching in it 

With regard to meetings, I think they are great means of 
bringing people to the love of true religion and the Scrip- 
tures ; but I think where the love is deeply implanted they 
are not the chief food of the mind; they are among the 
means of religion, but not religion itself. I intend to write 
a very long letter in a day or two, I am obliged to leave off 
now. I fear you will think me very dull ; my reading and 
conversation all turn on grave subjects, so that I should be 
at a loss at present for something lively to write about. 

Lord is a very amiable man, not talented, but 

extremely anxious to forward religion, and does among 
simple minds more than a very clever person. 

We have a great deal of visiting amongst Pennefathers 
arid Pallisers, and certainly meet people very superior both 
in piety and intellect to what the general run of society 

I forgot to observe, when speaking of meetings, that 
amongst their other advantages, they are fine schools of 
eloquence for the young men eloquence exerted in the 
most important of all subjects. The speaking to-day was 


admirable, and the meeting ended by a hymn sung in the 
very best style it was really beautiful Bishop Heber's 
Missionary Hymn. 

Mrs. A. Riall is as agreeable as ever, but we do not see so 
much of her as we wish. She came here yesterday and 
would return to-day . . . The ladies here have a monthly 
bazaar on an excellent plan ; they sell drawings and various 
elegancies and take out the money in clothes for the poor ; it 
is the best thing of the kind I ever heard of, turning to such 
good use their leisure moments, and having in exchange 
clothes to give away themselves. The jail and House of 
Industry go on admirably, how I wish you could see them ; 
our various employments are anything but dull, and often 
lead to delightful society. Anna and I have begun a very 
interesting way of studying the Scriptures, by reading the 
original references in a polyglot. The coincidences and 
parallel passages are a great confirmation to one's faith. The 
Jew told me that his Israelite brethren believe in the miracles 
of Jesus, but they say He performed them by the help of 
Satan, stealing the ineffable name of God out of the temple. 
What a testimony is this admission to the truth of Chris- 
tianity. He said a great deal more which you would like to 
hear, but I reserve them for another time. He has promised 
me to write a book entitled " Proofs of Christianity from 
Judaism." With love to my uncle and cousins, believe me 
to be, my dear aunt, 

Your very affectionate niece, 


October 4. 

MY DEAR JANE I could not find . . . Catherine's 
letter, so I have still an opportunity of writing something 

more. , after being given up by the medical man, 

has had some very favourable symptoms, which would lead 


us to think her recovery not only possible but probable. 
She had seemed by dint of ceaseless attention to have been 
awakened to a sense of spiritual things, and we had hoped 
that she was in a happy frame of mind, but she showed a 
most evident desire for life, in her anxiety to have every 
thing tried which could possibly remove the disease . .. " . 
I lead a life which certainly has not much of self-gratification 
in it ; rny whole time from breakfast until I go out to visit 
the poor being taken up in talking to beggars at the window. 
I have been giving away a good many blankets, and the 
whole range of people in the country seem to think that they 
have claims on me for one. The considering and weighing 
their respective cases is the most tiresome and distressing of 
occupations ; but if these little sacrifices win the hearts of 
the people, so as to enable me to be of use to their souls, it 
is all that I ask. Anna is unremitting in her attention to 
the school, and there are now forty Eoman Catholic children, 
an increase since I wrote the letter to Aunt Warde, which 
goes in this packet, it would seem almost incredible, but I 
have not since found time to finish and seal up the packet, 

such is the constant bustle between 's illness, with 

whom we spend a great deal of time, the beggars, and busi- 
ness. It certainly is a great sacrifice to duty to live in Ire- 
land, unless one's convenience would allow us to shut out 
the dirt and misery of the people. 

Mr. is going to leave me, and I have a general 

feeling of depression about me ; were it not for looking to 
another world this would be a scene of misery. 

We occupy the new library, which is a delightful room, so 
very cheerful, and it would be a comfort to occupy it in the 
morning, as the beggars do not enter the garden ; but con- 
science will not let me rest whilst the blanket claimants are 
at the windows of the drawing-room. The drawing-room is 
papered with very beautiful gilt paper, which is of little use 


since I have given up society- I often think of the peaceful 
pleasant mornings we used to spend at Yalding and contrast 
them with the bustle and clamour and smell of the poor 
people at the window. 

Mrs. is a very superior person, only too fond of 

the French, and is for ever contrasting them with the English 
and Irish. I think with too great a disposition to find fault, 
she looks out for defects, in the first instance. Dugald 
Stewart, the great metaphysician, says that persons of fine 
taste never criticize; they are so delighted with expatiating 
on beauties that they do not stay to look for defects ; and I 
remember reading of Mme. de Stael that she never criticized. 

Mrs. has rather a shrewd understanding and great 

strength of mind than a fine mind and lively imagination ; 
she does not relish Mr. Woodward, abhors speculation, and 
detests metaphysics. Believe me to be, my dear Jane, 
Your most affectionate cousin, 


, a bustling manager, has urged me to a minute 

attention to household affairs, which does not accord with 
my natural disposition, and this induces care and anxiety 
such as I cannot approve, and too often a spying into defects, 
which leads to constant new expenses in order to remedy 
them. There is something very catching in the habit of 
looking out for faults, and very pernicious. 

I have grown fidgetty, and, from not being expert, I am 
twice as long about a thing as anybody else would be. 
Then I have precisely those vexations which are the most 
trying. It is too much the case with us to forget that little 
matters require the aid of divine grace as much as those 
which are more weighty. 

Without any decided illness, I am neither so healthy now 
nor so strong as I used to be. I think it probable that mine 


is a very good life ; but I feel disposed to apprehend prema- 
ture old age a ride of ten miles knocks me up. I can be 
of little use among the poor at present, except at intervals; 
perhaps God may grant me health and strength to be of 
some use in my generation yet. It is good to be reminded 
of our utter worthlessness in ourselves. 

We have been twice to the Pallisers', but really have no 
satisfaction in conversation when it turns upon one never- 
ending subject, the nature of the Millennium. Mrs. 

is violently opposed to the personal reign. The Pallisers 
favour it. I have acquired a great dislike to being away 
from home, and after passing one day at Derryluskan I 

returned home, leaving Mrs. and promising to 

go back for them the next day but one. I did not, however, 
return for a week, and when I left them they were engaged 
in a contest about Millenarianism, when I returned they 
were carrying on the same argument still; besides being 
neutral on the subject, I have a great dislike to hearing the 
same things vehemently repeated. It is much against the 
truth of the personal reign, in my opinion, that old established 
biblical Christians and scholars, like Mr. Simeon, Faber, 
Dickson, Dr. Singer, and others, are generally, nay univer- 
sally, opposed to it, whilst wild speculatists, as Irving and 
women, uphold it. I have no doubt that a millennium is 
approaching ; but I do not see sufficient grounds for thinking 
that it will be a personal reign. 

Much, indeed, do I wish that you would contrive to come 
to Ireland ; surely one or both of your brothers could bring 
you, and it would make me so very happy to see you. I 
am sure the change of air and scene would do you good. 
Mr. Burnet passed a few days here sometime since ; his con- 
versation was as profitable and agreeable as ever. The other 
day we had a visit from Mr. Rowe, a very pious Minister. 
We had a missionary meeting in Clonmel, which I ]>ersuaded 
VOL. i. K 


a party of officers to attend. I am sorry to say the speaking 
was neither so good nor so profitable as usual. Mr. Wood- 
ward being absent, and Mr. Howe so disturbed by the 
improper conduct of the Roman Catholics that he made a 
speech of scarcely five minutes. Don't you think that the 
result of the Waterford Election has proved that the late 
Act has rather diminished priestly influence. In spite of the 
violent efforts made by the priests, all the respectable Roman 
Catholics voted for Lord George ; the party is thus divided, 
and they are now quarrelling amongst themselves, they are 
consequently weakened by division, and we may hope for 
success. I thank Miss Lucas for her gum seal. Catherine 
is well. Miss Stuart is a good creature and devotes her 
leisure hours to teaching the poor. My mother is not strong ; 
but I hope her general health, except that she coughs, is 
good. I recommend you to read Buddicombe's Christian 
Exodus. I hope that dear Aunt Warde is strong and well. 
Believe me to be, my dear Margaret, with love to my uncle, 
aunt, and cousins, 

Yours most affectionately, 


" To which of the various expected rebellions this letter 
alludes the editor is not sure ; but she well remembers when 
Lady Osborne was away from home and her daughter was 
about seven years old, being taken up out of bed and con- 
veyed into Clonmel, to be deposited there in safety with a 
friend who had a Bank, at that time, in the town ; in con- 
sequence of an imperative order from Lady Osborne to that 
effect, resulting from notice having been given that a rising 
was to occur that night." 

Knocklofty Glebe. 

My DEAR MARGARET, My mother has told my aunt how 
much we were hurt by a letter from Aunt Akers, and she 


has told her the cause why we have hitherto expressed our- 
selves so guardedly about her illness ; it was your desire that 
we should. The idea never occurred to my mind that I 
could possibly be suspected of feeling anything but the 
deepest and warmest interest about the health of my Aunt 
Warde, whom I love with such deep affection, and whom I 
have always loved in time and hope to love through the 
countless ages of eternity with that affection which knows 
no change nor shadow of turning. I hope, please God, to 
go to England next autumn, and take a house in London for 
the winter ; and then I trust it will please God, if we are 
spared through the troublous times which I fear await us. 
It is seldom that I leave home now ; but I am on a visit for 
a day or two with a lady whose talents are equal to her piety. 
We are full of course of the expected rebellion. I sent you 
a Mail and we send another to-day. I do not take the paper 
myself, but I will ask Mrs. Hill to send it. I return home 
on Monday. I have been promised a house in Clonmel, on 
the first symptom of insurrection. The fearful run on the 
Banks has begun, and I think that it will be now or never 
that the rebellion will occur, although O'Connell seems to 
desire to put it off. I trust in the protection of heaven and 
shall stay in Ireland. I am obliged to conclude now, because 
an opportunity has occurred of sending to the post which 
will save Mrs. Hill from sending on purpose three miles on a 
wet day. Believe me to be, my dear Margaret, with love to 
my uncle, aunt and cousins, 

Yours most affectionately, 


" Mr. William Archer Butler was one of the most distin- 
guished pupils of Dr. Bell's school mentioned in the follow- 
ing letter. 

This letter also shows how Lady Osborne found that 



nothing could fully gratify her intellect and satisfy her 
heart but religion, which takes in the whole range of God 
and man. 1 ' 

Newt own Anner, June 25th, 1827. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I hope you Avill understand that I am 
always too happy to hear from you to wish you to wait for 
a frank. I think our correspondence has been far too 
limited of late, and I think that friends who love each other 
as we do should communicate more frequently. I am sure 
that if I were to wait until I had something new to relate I 
might never write at all, as the story has always been between 
us. We see no new faces and engage in no new scenes. 
Our gaieties here consist in a large and attentive congregation 
in Killaloan Church, and we hope and wish for a fine Sunday 
as much as some people do for a fine day when a party of 
pleasure is expected to take place. Mr. Woodward preached 
here on Sunday week to an overflowing congregation ; 
every pew was crammed full, and people were even seated 
on the steps of the altar, and the clerk's seat was full, and 
this in a little country church where the populace were 
Roman Catholics, and the situation so retired ; it is literally 
like Paradise blooming in the desert. Our ordinary preacher 
Mr. Carey is a man of talent and preaches admirable sermons. 
We have Dr. Bell sometimes ; there is no evening service, 
so the day closes by a party of pleasure to Fethard Church ; 
such is our way of living. Anna and I have been very much 
at Westgrove lately. It is a nice comfortable house and in 
a very healthy situation. I always think it peculiarly agrees 
with me ; then it is so free from noise and beggars ; but the 
trees are all young, and everything looks trim and new. I 
felt on returning home from our last visit that the grandeur 
of our large trees, and the rich luxuriance of our shrubs, 
which really vie with the trees of the forest, and the milder 


climate of the valley much more than compensate for the 
bracing air of the more hilly situation, and even the idea of 
practical economy which a small place offers. This place is 
in great beauty, the shrubs offering such delightful shade, 
the garden so gay with flowers, and the greenhouse in full 
blow. I was never so fond of being out of doors as I am 
now, or enjoyed a garden so much. Our retired mode of 
life gives ample leisure for the discovery of all the perfections 
of home. James is in ecstasies at the astonishing crops ; the 
hay, wheat, and oats all so good, everything very plentiful 
in expectancy, but money miserably scarce. James is a com- 
plete fanner, always talking of vetches and lucerne. We 
have great reason to be thankful to Providence for the 
promise of an abundant harvest, witnessing as we still do so 
much suffering from scarcity. You speak of seeing in the 
papers various accounts of the reformation in Ireland, in one 
column Roman Catholics become Protestants, in another 
Protestants become Roman Catholics ; but this you ought to 
be aware of, whilst nothing on our side is ever asserted which 
is not strictly true, the opposite party never scruple to assert 
the most glaring falsehoods ; proofs of this come under my 
own eyes, and the writer in . . . is a Roman Catholic. 
I trust in God that our cause will prosper, a spirit of enquiry 
has been for some time afloat, and as it is the cause of truth 
I think it must prevail. What you observe is most true, as 
we advance in life we feel more and more how rapidly earthly 
objects are fading away, how truly they are all vanity ; and 
when the discovery is really made that there is nothing in 
this world worth giving the heart to, the mind must sink 
into desolation and despair unless it seek comfort in religion, 
and it is the want of this vivifying principle that causes so 
much languor and dejection in old age ; after a youth of 
cheerfulness, even of gaiety, something is required to fill up 
the place of youth and its attractions, its animal spirits, its 


lively hopes, all ending in withering disappointment, hope 
then must be fixed on eternity, it has no materials to act 
upon here, everything has been tried and failed. 

I should like very much to see the Parsonage, as it will 
be when fitted up for the reception of Richard and Mary. I 
always loved the Parsonage. With how many sweet associa- 
tions it is connected. How happy I have been there ! It is 
sad to think the past can never be recalled here. 

Mr. Woodward's idea is that whatever we have enjoyed 
here will be revived in eternity, sin only excepted; and the 
soft and tender melancholy, yet not unpleasing, with which 
we look back on our past scenes of happiness seems to favor 
the hope delightful as it is. C. is looking forward to her 
birthday on Saturday; she will be nine years old, and ex- 
pects to be very happy. Alas ! I fear it will be like every 
other, a season of disappointment ; but at that age when one 
thing fails, the soul is vigorous and fresh, and quite ready 
to begin a new race with equal confidence of success. She 
is well, and goes on improving in her education. 

My mother, I am happy to say, is better than I have seen 
her for some time. Anna is quite happy in the society of 

; the two young ladies meet almost every day, and 

there is a constant intercourse of notes between them. I 
am glad she has so pleasing and satisfactory a resource. The 

have returned from Dublin more full of prejudice 

than ever, delighting in the views of the R. C. party, and 
triumphing in Maguire's eloquence. They have long been 

hail fellow, well met! with Mackey Mr. 

Woodward's newspaper correspondent. The are in 

England, some people say in debt, but the large establish- 
ment they have left here disproves the assertion. I hope 
when you write next that you will have the kindness to 
particularize every individual of your dear circle. How I 
wish you would all come to see us ! 


How happy I should be to see you here ! We have given 
up our little Thursday meetings, there being a fever amongst 
our little colony of Protestants, and besides in this busy sea- 
son we do not wish to tempt poor people to lose any part of 
their day's work. I wish you could go with me to the jail, 
you would find every prejudice vanish before the propriety 
and order of the establishment. You speak of a chaplain 
doing the business, but you forget the culprits are R. C.'s, 
and consequently would not listen to a clergyman of our 
persuasion. I was very much gratified by the display of 
oratory in Dr. Bell's boys the other day. An exhibition of 
the kind is admirably calculated to do good ; the boys com- 
posed most of their own speeches. I beg my love to my 
uncles and cousins. I suppose Sarah is happy amongst her 
pinks and roses ; I trust that Margaret is well and cheerful. 
Is Jane still at Eltham ? and how is Fanny Baines ? Pray tell 
me everything, all is interesting to me, even to the . . . 
and the . . . Take care of yourself, my dearest aunt. 
May God bless you. 

Ever most affectionately yours, 


" The editor remembers hearing that the tariff for 
changing religion that would have been accepted according 
to the offer made by the aspirants was 2s. 6d. a week, and a 
leg of mutton on Fridays, which they supposed would be 
a peculiarly acceptable item, as Friday is a fast day. So 
great were the sufferings of the poor at that time, for cer- 
tainly they are usually most loyal by nature to the religion 
they are taught." 

Newtown Aimer, March 13th. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I had great pleasure in receiving 
your letter to-day. We had been very uneasy from the 


length of time which had been suffered to elapse without 
hearing from dear England, and we dreaded lest your 
silence should have been occasioned by the illness of some 
dear member of your much loved circle. Do not suppose 
that I have ceased to cherish the remembrance of early ties, 
they are as fresh and vivid to my heart as in the days of 
early youth. Other ties may have more excitement, because 
we fear to lose them, they must be supported by the exer- 
cise of our mental powers ; we must play the agreeable, and 
we dread lest these powers should fail; but those friends 
who have grown with our growth, we may rely on this, 
every change of time or circumstance, the loss of cheerful- 
ness, of health, or even temper, will not entirely wean them 
from us ; the impression has been so deep and solid, that 
although it may be for a time defaced, it is always in the 
closest recesses of the heart, and the least rub will restore it 
to its brightness. I can recal with the deepest interest the 
happy days of youth, particularly that happy year we passed 
at the parsonage. I love to hope that they are not finally 
lost, but will be restored, without any alloy, in another 
world. If you suppose me to be in possession of the hap- 
piness which religion in full exercise bestows, you are sadly 
mistaken; I have too many faults, too little of the mind 
which is in Christ Jesus to be happy, too much of an unsub- 
dued nature. I don't think I ever had so many faults as I 
have now, for the spring of life and gaiety is gone, and reli- 
gion is not so practical in my soul as to have substituted the 
peace of God in its stead. Trifles, the merest trifles, con- 
stantly affect my happiness, and I am often a prey to the 
deepest depression. My temper, too, is more irritable than 
it was, and I have always had but little the power of self- 
control. I have had too much power, been too much spoiled, 
opposition in what really interests me is too keenly felt, I 
can often scarcely understand it, but this is not always so, 


sometimes my views are far more bright and cheering, and 
I can realize some of the comforts of religion ; but I must 
confess that any unhappiness of mine is not of a religious 
nature, it is all from worldly causes, it is from not having 
religion enough to correct my own faults, and indeed all 
my depression now is always brought on by faults of 

I have a request to make of Richard, his compliance 
with which will indescribably oblige me. It is to preach a 
charity sermon in Yalding, for the poor of this parish. You 
can have no conception of the dreadful distress which pre- 
vails here, in consequence of the drought last summer, 
which destroyed all the potatoes. This time of the year food 
is generally very plentiful, but now every poor man's pro- 
vision is exhausted. We really expect the poor to die at 
our doors. People once in the most decent circumstances 
are reduced to beggary, and the universal failure of rents 
increases the difficulty of assisting them. The times are 
really awful; numbers come to me offering to turn Pro- 
testants if I will give them money, ignorantly imagining that 
such conversions could gratify me, poor creatures! You 
have no conception how morally ignorant they are, with no 
religious instruction, Latin prayers, no Bible, no sermons 
preached, except in Lent, and then chiefly in abuse of Pro- 
testants ; but I need not fill my pages with a description of 
mental evils when corporal sufferings are before my eyes, 
and men's bodies are perishing before anything can be done 
for their souls. Plague, famine, and the sword, as Mr. 
Daly said in his speech, raging through this unhappy 
country. When the gentry meet, it is not to discuss topics 
of mirth and cheerfulness. The most thoughtless are 
engaged in talking of the miseries of the poor. You may 
not have heard of this fearful famine, perhaps the distress 
may be greater here than it is elsewhere, one thing is cer- 


tain, for months a shower of rain did not fall with us, and 
the consequence is the poor have nothing to eat. I hope 
Richard 's kind heart will lead him to do what I ask him, 
and if the distress has not yet been publicly talked of, he 
can mention that he has heard it from me, and perhaps, too, 
his parishioners may be the more inclined to contribute 
what they can spare when they find the request has come to 
them from the good opinion entertained of them by one 
who has spent some of her happiest days amongst them. 
They may depend on the funds being well applied. When 
you warn me against the jail as a place of danger, it is 
because you do not know what a jail is in the present day. 
Would to God there were many places here as regular, 
orderly, cleanly, and healthy as Clonmel jail. The vaulted 
chambers, lofty and airy, large fires, stone floors, clean 
enough to eat off. The women dressed in uniform, and 
quite clean ; there is even a shower bath provided for them, 
and owing to the care of the matron even the worst descrip- 
tion of persons quiet and attentive. 

May God grant that our little efforts may be of service. 
I know the word service sounds a little strange, but it is only 
in the sound, at all events. Anna has attended but once 
when I could not go ; I go alone on every Monday. Another 
business of mine, which will seem to you more strange is, 
that of attending at the House of Industry on the wretched 
women, the lowest, the most degraded of our sex, but they, 
too, seem touched and softened by these trifling attempts to 
do them good, and I have seen some moved to tears on 
speaking to them. There, of course, Anna never will go, 
the attendance there is not pleasant ; amongst other things 
the room is very large, and there is no fire, the cold is some- 
times very great. There is something exquisitely painful in 
the contemplation of these poor, degraded creatures ; I love 
to read to them the account of the woman who bathed our 


Lord's feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hairs 
of her head. 

This is certainly a most melancholy world, wherever we 
turn nothing but suffering ; evils mental or physical in every 
quarter. If it were not for the hope of a happy eternity 
how could the reflecting mind bear it all, and were it not so 
if Providence showered down every earthly blessing what 
misery it would be to leave them all if we had not a brighter 
country to go to even prosperity here would be a curse. 

Good night, I will add more to-morrow. I must give you 
one more melancholy picture : I was visiting not long ago 
a family of decent Protestants, whom I had thought above 
the world ; they had never asked for assistance. The day 
was very cold I found them without fire ; they had no 
money ; all their provisions the potatoes from the portion 
of ground which had always lasted the year, all done. 
These are very industrious, honest, respectable, intelligent 
people. Is it not melancholy ? I wish Aunt Akers would 
kindly exert her influence to have a charity sermon preached 
at the Wells when the season begins. A few shillings a-piece 
collected from a charity sermon in church makes up a consi- 
derable sum from the number of contributors and need not 
fall heavy on any. 

I am very sorry to hear that my aunt complains of her 
chest ; I hope she will not neglect to take advice ; health is too 
precious to be trifled with. I am sorry to find that Mary 
complains, it does seem peculiarly distressing to suffer from 
bodily weakness at a period of life when she would naturally 
expect all to be bright and smiling just after her marriage. 
But alas ! such is human life, a perpetual alternation of hope 
and disappointment, happy they who view this world only as 
a passage to another. 

Do you take an interest in the progress of reformation 
here ? I was lately active in the work, but have met with 


so many disappointments from the detection of mercenary 
motives that I have given it over, and content myself with 
those religions activities which lie more immediately in my 
own province, I conld fill my paper with anecdotes of 
opposition from priests ; of a dead body being forcibly 
carried off to be bnried like a dog because the poor woman 
died a convert to our pure religion ; of the body being 
found, the military called out ; but my very soul is sick of 
it all. At first I was excited and interested but now I am 
disgusted. I do think there is a stir in favor of Protestant- 
ism. The word of God is slowly doing its work, and Lord 
Farnham with his moral agents and God's blessing has done 
much. I f you should ever be called upon for a toast give 
" Lord Farnham and the Reformation in Ireland." We hope 
too that much good will be done by increasing the circulation 
of the Testament in the native Irish. A poor man who had 
been converted to Protestantism by reading the Bible in his 
native tongue, wrote to Mr. Daly in the following remarkable 
manner : " My parish priest used to call me a good and 
sound sheep, but now the good and sound sheep has leapt 
over his reverence's wall, and I hope will soon be branded 
by the Shepherd and Bishop of souls." Does my uncle feel 
an interest in the public affairs of Ireland ? Give my love 
to him and my aunt and cousins. Have you read the priest's 
letter to Mr. Woodward, and the answer that is signed by 
B. D. L.? was by Dr. Bell. 

I ought to apologize for the solemn tone of my letter, but 
in such times who can be gay, who can trifle ? I entreat 
you to read Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion, the 
most cheerful and interesting of religious writers. Pray read 
it, and believe me, my dear Margaret, 

Your most affect cousin, 



I had forgotten to tell you that Mr. Woodward hates con- 
troversy so much that he was sorry to be forced into it, but 
his parish was so hot on the subject that he could not have 
avoided answering the priest's letter. 


Mr DEAR MARGARET, I was very much shocked at hearing 

of Lady 's death, and I pity her poor husband very 

much ; he will feel it in every way from her having been so 
useful to him in transacting his business, as well as from the 
sudden breaking up of the ties of affection. But why does 
my dear Aunt Warde speak as if there were anything strange 
in the confidence that religious people express in the happiness 
of their departed friends. Surely such a state is clearly point- 
ed out in Scripture as being the privilege of those who die in 
the faith of Christ : to deny this is popery ; it is the very 
essence of popery to detain its votaries in a state of bondage, 
of doubt, and distrust. Surely faith requires us to believe 
in the promises as well as the threatenings of the Gospel : 
therefore being justified by faith we have peace with God. 
It is from not being satisfied to rest all our hopes on what 
Christ has done for us that people are not sensible of the 
great privilege of the Christian's assurance of his salvation. 

We passed a few very pleasant days at Bath. Mrs. Young 
is coming to stay with me, she is a very superior person, and 
has circulated in France three thousand copies of the Holy 
Scriptures, not given, but sold for the Bible Society. Mrs. 
A. and G. seem to be on the happiest terms possible. Mrs, 
A. has insured her life at a considerable expense so as to 
procure for G. 200 a year at her death, and G. seems to 
have everything she wishes for, even those ornamental ex- 
penses in portfolios, &c., which she would not like to buy. 
This shows great kindness on the part of Mrs. A., and G. 
seems to feel the kindness of Mrs. A.'s conduct too. 


Mrs. Young, though differing from both in religious views, 
seems to be much loved by both. G. appears to me to be 
sadly opposed to religious strictness. She has all the old 
fashioned notions which most people have discarded that 
professors of peculiar strictness are likely to be guilty of 
crimes of great magnitude. I never saw any one so preju- 
diced. Mrs. A. is not, I think, prejudiced. G. is very 
agreeable, although it is sometimes distressing to hear her 
speak upon serious subjects with levity. We spent a very 
pleasant week at Bath ; it is a place which I should like very 
much ; the country around it is beautiful. Elizabeth's 
abode is beautifully situated, and her children are lovely 
little creatures ; she herself seems cheerful and happy. Mr. 

, a very amiable man, extremely attached to Mrs. 

and disposed to attend to her advice . . . 

I began this letter more than a week ago, and have been 
so very much engaged that I could not go on with it. Mr. 
Finch and Mr. Gordon have been here and are gone. Mr. 
F. is a great favorite, his soul is quite absorbed in the object 
so near my heart. It is certainly a fine trait in a young man 

of very large fortune, and possessing, as Lady told 

me, the finest place in England, to devote himself as he does 
to the service of his God, frequenting meetings, often tumul- 
tuous, where he must hear over and over again the same things- 
There were three held in Clonmel which I think with God's 
blessing will prove to have done good. An R. C. told me 
himself that numbers who attended said they were con- 
vinced by what they heard that it was their duty to read the 
Bible. One meeting was held for the purpose of exposing 
the Douay notes on the Bible, some of them inculcating the 
murder of Protestants, which notes by O'Connell's interfer- 
ence have been expunged, as well as many others, as also 
Dr. Doyle's swearing before Parliament that the notes were 
of no authority, all this clearly proving that the R. C. Church 


has never expounded the Scriptures, consequently that they 
have no infallible guide. The meeting seemed much struck. 
The two gentlemen seem admirably qualified for controver- 
sialists, so clearly did they explain every argument. 

Numbers of Roman Catholics attended at the meeting held 
on Saturday ; great good humour and attention prevailed 
amongst many hundreds ; a few children made a little noise. 
Mr. Gordon's speech was quite magnificent. At the close 
there was a cry to put Lady Osborne in the chair, but it was 
merely a good-humoured joke. Some of the Roman Catho- 
lics as we went out expressed their approbation, and asked 
for Bibles. May it please God to open their understanding. 
I have several instruments at work. I beg that you will 
assist us with your prayers, not merely private prayers, but 
you will meet together and make the success of our efforts a 
subject of serious believing family prayer. " Prayer moves 
the hand that moves the world." There is much going for- 
ward in this neighbourhood. Surely God will bless the 
variety of instruments which are starting up in His name. 

There is a school where upwards of thirty young men 
meet to learn to read the Scriptures in Irish, Nicodemus like 
at night; besides this a poor man with his wife and several 
children came to me one day as beggars, the man a reader 
of the Irish Scriptures, and the whole family Protestant. 
I am building a cottage for the family, and am sending the 
poor man himself from house to house to read the Bible in 
English and Irish to the poor. 

Mrs. A. Riall and her clergyman will contribute something 
to his support, and he will sometimes go to her parish; he is 
to itinerate, and when persecuted in one city, will fly to 
another, he had excellent recommendations as to character. 
I think Providence sent him to me ; nothing is worth living 
for but to glorify God by doing good to the souls and 
bodies of men. Mrs. A and G pass the winter in 


South Wales and come to us thence, consequently it would 
not suit you to come with them; but I hope you will come 
with one of your brothers. 

I cannot tell you how happy it will make me to see you 
here ; is it not a great blessing that the Irish are really 
studying, beginning at least to do so, the Scriptures ; this is 
a most interesting country, may God make the desert blos- 
som as the rose; I am painfully interested about it. The 
Pallisers have been very active, and the priest preaches 
against them by name in the coarsest and most odious man- 
ner; such conduct can only injure their own cause. Anna 
has received Jane's interesting letter; I wish you were all 
amongst us. May God grant us all before very long a happy 

I hope to hear that all our dear friends at Yalding are 
preserved in health and happiness. 
Believe me to be, 

My dearest Margaret, 

Your most affect, cousin, 

1 like Miss extremely. I think her very pious 

and an excellent governess. Pray remember me affection- 
ately to Uncle Warde and my cousins. Tell my uncle that 
Miss is attempting the conversion of his old ac- 
quaintance, , who listens to her, and has begged for 

a Bible. 

" The Editor cannot say whether it was before or after 
this letter was written that a circumstance occurred which 
was alluded to in a letter (unfortunately mislaid). Lady 
Osborne was driving into Clonmel to attend a Reformation 
meeting with two gentlemen, one of whom was Mr. J. E. 
Gordon ; both had come as a deputation to the meeting. 


Stones were thrown at the carriage, and one struck Lady 
Osborne on the head with such violence as to break the 
tortoise shell comb that fastened up her hair, thus perhaps 
saving her life. 

Mr. J. E. Gordon was a well known character in the 
religious world, and sat as M. P. for Dundalk. Deputations 
to speak for various religious societies were often in the 
habit of coming to Ireland to plead for them, and nearly all 
of them made a halting place at Newtown Anner." 

Newtown Anner, 7 o'clock. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I am very sorry that our corre- 
spondence should have declined so much. I wish, as we 
meet so seldom that we wrote oftener ; although 1 trust that 
our affection is of too long standing, and too deeply rooted, 
to be diminished by time or absence. I, for my part, cleave 
to early recollections and associations with unchanged and 
unchangeable interest. Nothing can displace them in my 
mind. You who live in so quiet a country, and where pub- 
lic events scarcely reach the individual, will hardly compre- 
hend the agitation of my mind on a public question, but 
here we live in such a world, that many circumstances which 
might appear too remote from private feelings deeply to 
affect, becomes so wrought up with one's inner interests and 
affections that we cannot separate them. The event to 
which I allude is the establishment of Reformation societies 
over Ireland. All the friends with whom I have for some 
time been closely connected in opinions and sentiments, the 
promoters of Bible and missionary societies, all are engaged 
heart and hand in forwarding the work of the reformation, 
and in this peculiar manner. I said all my friends, but that 
was a mistake, I wish I could say all ; the friend with whom 
I am most intimately united is a strenuous opposer of the 

VOL. i. L 


Mr. Woodward considers the plan ill judged and useless, 
and although I have tried all I could to think with him, I 
cannot help differing; in fact my whole heart is in the cause, 
and yet to avoid any public display of difference, I abstained 
from attending the meeting which was held in Clonmel. A 
step which of course has been much commented upon ; it 
has greatly annoyed the Pallisers, and all who know me even 
by name amongst those who are interested in the cause. I 
do not know whether you will understand that this is a great 
trial to me ; I feel it like a member of the House of Commons 
who has been led by private affection to abandon a cause 
which his principles would induce him to support. I almost 
feel as if respectability, dignity, and even conscience had 
suffered. I did not feel the matter so strongly at the time 
of the meeting as I have done since, but the very arguments 
which I have entered into with simple sincerity of soul in 
hopes of being led to think like my friend, have ended in 
confirming and strengthening my once almost vacillating 
opinion. All this ought to lead us to feel more deeply the 
value of interior religion ; those calm walks which lead to 
peace, to study the cultivation of inward purifying influences 
which are to be found in the well of water leading to ever- 
lasting life, and for this cause I can only say with the learn- 
ed Doctor Gamaliel, " If it be of God, none can overthrow 
it." I passed a few days lately at Derryluskan in a very 
cheerful, quiet manner. We have an excellent institution 
in Clonmel, to which all the ladies of the country contribute 
drawings and various little articles for sale, and the value is 
returned to them in clothes for the poor, by which means a 
double charity is done ; you support the Clonmel bazaar and 
you assist your own poor with the fruits of your labours. I 
should like very much to see Richard and Mary in the 
Parsonage. You know I still retain my early love for the 
Parsonage, the remembrance of the happy days we used to 


pass there ; I recollect with tender interest even the walks 
over the ice, when so fresh in youth and gaiety I used to 
walk daily over to the vicarage, so glad to see you all. 
Many a happy hour is deeply imprinted on my recollection 
many a cheerful scene. I love Mr. Woodward's idea, 
that the past will be recovered in another life. There have 
been many hours which I should wish to live over again ; 
if there were nothing else to drive us to religion. If there 
were no peculiar trials to contend with, the mere lapse of 
time, the apprehended decay of nature, would be sufficient, 
everything is getting worse for this world, nothing can 
improve. We become less and less capable of enjoyment. 
How melancholy it is to see those who must soon leave 
tli em clinging more and more closely to the dross and dregs 
of this present world. 

I hope to hear good accounts of dear Aunt Warde, and I 
trust that you are well and strong. You cannot imagine 
how much I feel myself braced by the use of the shower 
bath. I wish you would try it. The best way of using it is 
to stand in a little hot water and have the water which pours 
over you quite cold; but the heat which is communicated by 
stepping into warm water is ascertained to be the best prepa- 
ration for the cold which is to follow. I find my animal spirits 
much improved by the shower bath. I wish you and Mary 
would try it it is found to be good for everything, and I 
really implore you to try it it is like a charm and is consi- 
dered the most effectual preventative against taking cold ; 
persons who are naturally liable to take cold all agree to this 
after trying it do be prevailed upon. My next letter shall 
be to Jane, for I am anxious to break this continued silence. 

Anna has been staying in Dublin; she only returned a 
week ago. She was there for three weeks with the Penne- 
fathers and was treated by them with great kindness ; she 
gives a very interesting account of different things going on 


there to promote improvement in society an orphan school 
which seems the most delightful thing in the world. The 
rich and pious Mrs. Latouche devoted all her time and 
talents to it, and treats the children as if they were her own. 
Every kindly affection is drawn out and everything is clone 
to make them happy. Whenever a lady who supports the 
institution is known to be ill, not a smile is to be seen on the 
countenances of any of the children ; having no parents their 
hearts turn with devoted affection to their kind benefac- 

I am going on with my Greek studies as regularly as a 
school boy and hope to be a good scholar in time. You do 
not speak of my uncle ; I hope he is well. Give my love 
to him and my aunt Sarah, Richard and Jane Ramsey and 
George. Jane will hear from me next week. I am looking 
out for a governess for Catherine. I have been led to this 
from the conviction that teaching produces a bad effect on 
mother and child. Catherine and I are heartily tired of 
each other and glad to separate by the time our lessons are 
over. I am thinking of a governess who has been educating 
a young lady in your neighbourhood, Lady G 's daugh- 
ter ; perhaps you could find out something about her. 
Ever, my dear Margaret, 

Your most affectionate cousin, 


" Some time ago the editor would not have inserted the 
very strong expressions Lady Osborne uses against a most 
aggressive and tyrannical system ; in deference to the strong 
feeling of benevolence she had for every human being, lay 
or clerical, to whom she could render a service, but now that 
priestcraft and Ultramontane sympathizers are proceeding to 
wholesale and practical wrong and political violence against 
Protestantism, the editor has no scruple about expressions 


denouncing a system that violates the text, " the letter 
killeth but the spirit maketh alive ;" while with subtle 
inconsistency it holds the esoteric doctrine of Intention. 
Protestants though partial to individual Roman Catholics 
cannot relish a system that pronounces theirs to be damnable 

See Seymour's Mornings with the Jesuits, referred to in 
the article in the Pall Mall Gazette on Mr. Ffoulke's remark- 
able pamphlet " The Church's Creed, or the Crown's 
Creed ? 

This remark was written before the Bill was passed which 
has aimed such a blow at the civilization and prosperity of 
Ireland, depriving it of 70,000 a year and the poor in wild 
districts of some of the greatest succourers of their temporal 
privations and sufferings." 

i March 10. 

MY DEAR AUNT, You have indeed fully answered my 
queries respecting your feelings with regard to the great 
question now pending. I read your letter to Lord Donough- 
inore, and although it is in opposition to his own sentiments, 
he was much pleased with it. He praised it as being a very 
excellent letter, although he said very prejudiced. I am very 
glad that the University of Oxford has not shewn itself time- 
serving to the ministry. I am glad they prefer principle to 
the natural desire of preferment. I believe that Sir Robert 
Inglis is a religious character, for The Dublin Evening 
Post calls him a swaddler. I therefore hope they have 
chosen well. Lord Donoughmore blames Mr. Peel for having 
offered himself again as a candidate for Oxford ; it is on 
truly liberal principles that his lordship favors emancipation, 
he is a very highly principled old man, and in spite of his 
laughing at the " Saints" he bears a high testimony to the 
character of the evangelical clergy, and says it is not for 


their vices, but for their virtues that those in authority over 
them set their faces against them this is his opinion, not 
mine, for I was ignorant of the fact. Lord Donoughmore 
is a man who judges without the bias of party; he sees the 
wrongness of all, and I believe that whether his own opinions 
are mistaken or not he is quite devoid of interested motives. 
Did I tell you what he said to the leaders of the Catholic 
Association ? You call yourselves the Irish nation. Why, the 
rank of the country is Protestant ; the wealth of the country 
is Protestant ; almost all the talent of the country is Pro- 
testant, and nearly all the integrity of the country is Pro- 
testant how then are you the Irish nation ? There stand 
on the roof of Knocklofty House two busts, one of 
William III. the other of Queen Mary. Lord D. desired me 
to tell you that he has put them in mourning. He has con- 
sented to Miss Hutchinson going to an anti-slavery meeting, 
which will take place on Thursday ; the eloquent Mr. 
Burnet is to speak at it, and whether it does good or not to 
the poor slaves I trust the truths will be uttered on that plat- 
form, which may do good to all that hear them, provided 
God's blessing accompany them. I do not consider Catholic 
emancipation as a religious question. I think it is rather a 
political one. We cannot exclude the Roman Catholics on 
religious grounds whilst we admit Socinians, and there is no 
barrier to keep them out. I believe that Popery, although a 
construction of the devil to spoil Christianity, has had 
amongst its votaries some of God's children. Fenelon, 
Paschal, and others; but Socinianism, cold blooded Soci- 
nianism, is not only diabolical in its construction, but its 
very foundation is laid in hell ; but as a system I abhor 
Popery. It is a great trial to me that my own footman 
refuses to join in my family worship as an unholy thing. 
That the man who eats of my bread, looks upon me, who 
really feel an anxiety to save my own soul and the souls of 


others, as a heretic, sinking into perdition. These are great 
trials to flesh and blood, and these considerations operate so 
strongly that the evangelical party in Ireland, tried in this 
way, almost to a man, are opposed to emancipation, upon 
personal feeling, I believe, although they do not know it 
themselves ; but I think myself that the arm of the law can- 
not uphold religion, it is of a more spiritual nature. Look 
at the gross ignorance on religious subjects displayed by 
some of our hereditary legislators. Hear Earl Grey assert, 
" Protestanism is the source whence the reformed religion 
sprung, and received the means of its growth, maturity, 
and permanence." When one of our most eloquent senators 
asserts, that " consubstantiation is one of the doctrines of 
the Church of England." These men are true Papists. 

The doing away of the forty-shilling freeholders is a 
better thing for Protestantism than the exclusion of the 
Papists themselves, as it will throw the elections into the 
hands of Protestants. 

The Romans preferred choosing a king from the body of 
the Sabines, and the Sabines electing one from them. I 
think the cloven foot of Popery will do less mischief than 
the smooth face of nominal Protestantism. Talk of oaths, 
how a man who has taken the oath Lord Grey has done, 
before he could take his seat, could make the speech he has 
made, I am at a loss to conceive. People do not consider 
how many real infidels there are who are not professed 
infidels, and that a nominal Protestant is as much opposed 
to the religion of Jesus Christ as a Papist; still their advan- 
tages are not to be compared. A Protestant is within reach 
of the means of grace; humanly speaking, a Roman Catholic 
is not; he excludes the Bible, and is excluded from its doc- 
trines ; consequently, to him the God of the Bible must be 
unknown. Were I to yield to the natural feelings of my 
soul I should not only exclude the Papists from Parliament, 


but I should turn them out of my establishment and my 
employment, but Christianity has forbidden me. I dare 
not do what nature prompts; they hang about me as a trial, 
and though a something within me enjoys every movement 
that tends to depress them, religious principle obliges me to 
repress these feelings, but they are ever rising. 

I assure you that you have nothing to apprehend in the 
way of Catherine not taking exercise, she rides her uncle's 
pony, which is remarkably sure-footed. I find riding essen- 
tial to her health. When she does not ride she is never 
thoroughly well, and this is very much my own case. 

I am finishing my letter in Mrs. Grubb's back parlour, 
which I am sure you may remember, and I write in a great 
hurry, for I expect Mr. Burnet from Cork every moment. 
Since I came to Clonmel I have received my mother's letter, 
Avith Aretas's addition. I shall reply to them both in a day 
or two. I look forward with delight to passing some time 
very happily with my dear English friends. Believe me to 
be, my dear aunt, 

Your most affectionate niece, 

Give my warmest regards to my uncle and cousins. I 

intend to pass a few weeks in London, and to give C 

the advantage of the best music master, her talents richly 
deserve it. 

"Lady Osborne and the Editor witnessed one of the 
monster processions organized by O'Connell that led to 
Catholic Emancipation. They saw it from a pew in Fethard 
Church whence the street is visible, and the masses of people 
with huge banners marching in solemn silence had a most 
extraordinary effect. 

O'Connell, as one man, for a just cause got up a great 


national cry a mode of tactics that has been adopted in 
later times by political coteries. When in need of a grievance 
they manufacture one in their own drawing-rooms, and then 
stump the country, telling their audience that their manifold 
aspirations, like some chemical agent, have been condensed 
for their comprehension, and have sent them, forth as spokes- 
men for the benefit of the country. Whereas, having in the 
first instance manufactured the article, it has been rarefied 
and dispersed by the heat of their own ambition, and there 
is as much reality in the fact as there is actual mirth in 
laughing gas." 

MY DEAB AUNT, I did not think it necessary to write to 
you from London as I knew Margaret regularly corresponded 
with you, and you are aware what a number of letters I am 
continually obliged to write ; I therefore thought I would 
wait till my arrival here before I addressed you. We passed 
three very pleasant days at Mrs. Baines ; you know how kind 
and hospitable she and her husband are. I like their present 
situation very much, as being very healthy, and at the same 
time commanding a very fine view, although I should prefer 
a view bounded by hills to one over so flat a country. I 
like the horizon to be limited, the picture to be framed in 
by high ground. I felt very sorry to leave Mrs. Baines 
and Margaret to go to North Cray amongst strangers, espe- 
cially as I did not feel very well the day I went ; but as we 

drove up to the door I saw the M 's carriage arriving 

before us, and Mr. Gordon with them. I received so kind 
and hospitable a reception that I soon felt myself quite at 
home. It is a beautiful place, a delightfully furnished 
house, and a large cheerful family. They live in excellent 
style ; but what is far better than all, they assemble a long 
train of servants to prayer morning and evening. I think 


that a blessing rests upon the house where a family altar has 
been erected and is duly attended. I was sorry to hear 
from Mr. Gordon that you had a bad attendance at your 
reformation meeting, I am afraid too that you had no good 

I met Mr. F. Noel, and Mr. Cobbe at a Church missionary 
meeting on Wednesday, there were a great many people at 
it, your friend Mr. Cooper amongst the rest. I was quite 
surprised at his recollection of me, it is so long since we 
met, and then only one day at your house. He is the first 
who has ever asked me after my dear William since his 
death; he expressed a hope that my little boy and girl were 
well. I told him that I had only a little girl now I had 
both when I last saw him. He said, that for the moment he 
had forgotten my loss. 

I brought a letter from Mr. Gordon to Mr. Tucker, who 
is to call on me. The speakers at the meeting were very 
fair. The objects of the Society, and the information given, 
always interesting of course, none of the speeches at all 
came up to what we heard in London. 

Did you hear that Mr. injured his health by fasting 

during the pending of the Catholic question, in order to 
contribute his mite to avert the calamity ? 

We saw Jane at Sevenoaks, who was looking very well. 
I asked her whether she expected me, and she said . . . 

Fanny Baines appeared to me quite recovered. What a 
very beautiful girl she is, and very clever and agreeable. 
All their children are very handsome I mean all Mr. and 
Mrs. Baines'. There was a young man [at Mrs. Benson's- 
with enormous moustaches, who wore his dressing gown all 
the morning a very gay one indeed. He had to bear the 
good humoured raillery of the whole party ; he certainly 
looked very much out of place in the circle. Lord Bexley 
and Mrs. Vansittart dined there. I was much pleased with 


both, and went to see Foot's Cray on my way here by Mrs. 
V.'s invitation. 

Lord Bexley has made it a delightful place ; he has thrown 
the portico into the house, and several rooms into one, and 
pillars erected to supply the place of old partitions. I look 
forward with much pleasure to joining your party at Yald- 
ing. I do not think 'twill be quite so soon as Catherine's 
birth day. 

I understand that you are expected at Shooters Hill next 
week! Little Aretas and Isabella, have occasioned me to 
make divers blots and errors, as they are about the table at 
which I am writing, and we have had a great deal of 
messing, &c. 

I beg to be affectionately remembered to my uncle and 
cousins, and believe me to be 

My dear Aunt, 

Your most affectionate niece, 


Newtown Aimer, Feb. 15. 

My DEAR AUNT I am sure you must be in great alarm 
about the present prospect of affairs. I fear that emancipa- 
tion unqualified will be granted, and the union of popery and 
infidelity will produce fearful results ; we are, however, in 
the hands of a wise God who will direct all things to the 
real benefit of His children, and this must be our support in 
the tumult which I fear to be approaching. It appears to 
me that in their anxiety to prevent a rebellion in Ireland, 
they will run the hazard of inducing rebellion in England, 
for if anything like the spirit which pervaded Pennington 
Heath be found throughout Great Britain the people will 
never submit to the triumphant power of popery. 

1 have thought sometimes that a sort of qualified emanci- 
pation might have advantages, so many wise and good men 


have desired it that I have felt it would be better to follow 
their opinion on this head, and then if the papists desire any- 
thing further their good men would be on our side and we 
should have to contend only with our enemies and not with 
our friends ; but I am thankful that the weight and responsi- 
bility of these matters does not rest with me. I have not to 
decide, but I think that it is a melancholy thing now to find 
the papists taking up the tone of loyalty and the Protes- 
tants laying it down. I feel quite anxious to know your 
opinion on these matters, and beg you will write to me 
directly. I want to see how you reconcile your ministerial 
feeling with your anti-emancipation feeling; one thing is 
quite certain, that in this strong war of party feeling it is 
incumbent on Protestants to let their light shine before men 
and to offer up their prayers for the preservation of the 
Protestant Church. I never felt so anxious about public 
affairs as at this crisis. I wonder what will be done. I look 
forward with much delight to the happiness of seeing you all 
in the spring. I leave much interesting occupation and 
many duties unperformed at home by going to England, but 
I think it is also a Christian duty to visit my dear friends in 
England. . . . You see the neighbourhood is much 
altered. All the people were so gay when you were here 
but such is life ! The Pallisers are going on well and happily. 
Old Mr. Palliser's sand of life runs low, but his spirits are 
more cheerful than ever ; his temper equable ; his nerves 
firm ; his judgment unshaken. He prays continually he 
says, that he may glorify God in his death. Old Mrs. 
Palliser, too, as she advances in age, having found peace 
with God, improves in serenity. The whole family exhibit 
a picture of social love and happiness, for they are all of one 
mind, &c. 

I beg my love to my uncle and cousins, and believe me to 
be, my dear aunt, your affectionate niece, 



MY DEAR MARGARET, I am sure that I must have appear- 
ed very remiss in writing so seldom since our return ; but 
the ordinary plea of want of time is quite true in my case. 
If I had no other business but to attend to beggars, to 
spinning women, and the poor cottagers, I should have hardly 
any time left for visiting my schools, for attending to Cathe- 
rine, and for some of the pursuits of taste and literature; 
but when to all the rest are added the management of a 
large estate, with its complicated accounts, the superintend- 
ence of a large establishment which I really now attend to, 
it is scarcely to be conceived how soon the day is over with- 
out my having employed one hour in a mode congenial to 
my taste. I suppose that I have not devoted two hours to 
my drawing since I returned, I have made but half a sketch 
and whenever I prepare to sally forth to complete it I am 
always interrupted. I feel as if this species of irksome 
occupation were a punishment on me for not having suffi- 
ciently appreciated the leisure and tranquillity I enjoyed in 
England. Mrs. Arthur Riall passed a few days with me, 
and she declared that the number of persons talking to me 
at the window made her feel quite nervous ; in short I must 
feel that nothing but the hopes of happiness in Heaven can 
reconcile a mind that seems to long for something better ; 
than a life of petty detail and tiresome duties ; bow many are 
the calls from above to consider the vanity of earthly hopes ; 
first, the rude grasp of misfortune loosens, our ties here below, 
then the soul begins to feel experimentally what it is to wake 
and sleep, to wake again to listen to tedious complaints, to 
witness sights of dirt and misery, to feel that refined taste 
and powers of thought and feeling are nothing, that the 
coarsest composition could cut out flannel petticoats, write 
tickets as well as we ; there is, however, in the fulfilment of 
these second rate duties a soft contentment, if we feel that 
we have at least a desire to do all things for the honour of 


God, which the most delightful pursuits could not communi- 
cate without it. If we could believe that the retirement of a 
convent could be acceptable to the Guide of the universe, it 
would be sweet to the mind laboring under the pressure of 
life's cares, but we are called on providentially to an active 
course, and it must be fulfilled. We always pass Sunday at 
Fethard, remaining until after the evening service. Mr. 
Woodward preaches both sermons, in the evening he preaches 
extempore, and his fine talents are so constantly employed on 
religion, that the fluency and elevation, and energy with 
which he preaches must be wonderful to those who do not 
know how deeply his thoughts are engaged. I am a great 
admirer of extempore eloquence, although there are few who 
succeed ; yet a good sermon without book certainly seems to 
flow more from the heart than a studied composition ; still 
there are few who ought to attempt it. One proof of the 
want of time with me is the fact of my having only returned 
three of the many visits paid me on my arrival. Wednes- 
day is to be a calling day, and to-morrow dines here 

with two of his brother officers, old acquaintances of James. 

regiment has succeeded the . It brings me quite 

a tribe of connexions, and I think there is a something 
irksome in the idea of meeting strange connexions. -. is 
good natured ; his name gives him a claim on my regard ; 
he is not lively or amusing, but his shyness may wear off; 
he is of course gentlemanlike. The Perrys are not yet 
returned from Tramore. We saw none of our acquaintances 
in the 84th, they were absent when we arrived. Miss Palliser 
and Margaret are still in Dublin. Mr. and Mrs. P. were in 
Church last Sunday, but they return immediately to their 
other country place. It is curious that they shoiild have such 
a predilection for so barren a spot. Mrs. P. promises a quick 
return, but I don't believe her; the Pennefathers are not in 
the country ; I have not yet seen the Coxes. Castletown is 


too far off for a call; if I ever have time I will send word 
that we will drive and sleep there. 

I have not for some time heard anything of our old ac- 
quaintance . In short I have been living quite out 

of the world. The Bartons of Grove, as the Clonmel paper 
told Jane, are at Tramore whilst their house is painting. 
Mrs. Bousfield has been fitting up Mrs. Keily's house on the 
quays in a most superb style. She and Colonel Bagwell will 
live there sometimes, because Marlfield, and Oaklands, and 
Eastgrove are not a sufficient number of residences. Jane 
will be surprised to hear that Miss Butler and I have become 
quite intimate, owing to her anxiety to turn Protestant, and 
go to Church, which she cannot do at home. She is clever 
and agreeable. She passed some days here with the Wood- 
wards. She is delighted with Mr. Woodward. She seems 
very sincere in her religious feelings as far as they go, but 
she carries a little Popery into her system. Mr. Gordon has 
written to me a very clever letter, but a very alarming one. 
He talks of coming here. In my reply I told him that I 
would be happy to see him, and so would Mr. P. and Mr. W., 
but that we would not sanction any public meetings, being 
persuaded that the country was not in a fit state to receive 
them, and I urged his desisting from any further attempts 
at proselytism until Providence had opened a way, being 
convinced the Bible cannot be forced on a people who will 
not admit it. I told him Mr. Woodward said he had better 
turn his views against the irreligious spirit of Protestants. 
I don't know whether my letter will please him, but it was a 
very kind one though full of advice. 

We have had beautiful weather since we have been here ; 
within the last few days it has been unbearably hot. . -.. , 
C. has received my aunt's and Richard's joint letter, she 
was much pleased with it. I have not yet procured her a 
governess. I have written to ... about one besides 


trying in Dublin. If I can't get a Protestant foreigner I 
intend to be satisfied with an Englishwowan who has lived 
abroad. I am going to write either to aunt Akers or Mary 
in a day or two. I have been so remiss that I have never 
yet written a congratulatory letter to Mrs. Crofton. I owe 
Warwick for a carpet which I purchased when at Maidstone. 
I have not received his bill. I owe Mr. Pout a small bill 
which I will pay at the same time. What a comfort it is to 
sit down ! I often think of the strangeness of my being 
involved in such a life of bustle. 

Believe me to be, my dear Margaret, with love to my aunt 
and cousins, and my uncle, whom I beg you will remind of 
his promise to bring you all next year, 

Your most affectionate cousin, 


C. is looking very well ; everybody thought I had grown 
fat on my return, but fidgetting makes me thin. 

MY DEAR AUNT, I am delighted at the good account you 
give of your health, and trust that God in His goodness will 
preserve you in health and strength many many years longer. 
I am sorry you did not attend the Reformation Meeting at 
Maidstone ; you could have gone to Chilston at any time, 
and you may not have another opportunity of attending a 
meeting of the kind : it is certainly delightful to see the 
distinguished of the land engaged in such a work. I feel 
very unwilling to believe in the spread of Popery in England. 
Surely the English have been too long enlightened,and have 
entertained too just a dread of the demon of superstition 
to be taken in by a parcel of priests: I cannot believe it. 
I am glad you like Mr. Gordon ; he is certainly a very clever 
and agreeable man. Does Uncle Warde like him? I think 
him a very zealous servant of God ; and, although not 


a pattern of Christian meekness. I know it is His pleasure 
to employ instruments of various temperaments for different 
works. I have very little to tell Jane of Dr. Poole. He was 
here about a month ago, and in very good health. He pro- 
mised to pay me another visit in a week, which he has not 
yet accomplished. 

Mrs. is not so agreeable as she was. Matrimony 

has made her grow grave. . . . This would be a very dull 
life if it were anything but a passage to a better; the same 
hum-drum story from beginning to end. 

Pray remember me to the Cobbes. I am much obliged to 
them for their kind recollection of me. It will give me 
great pleasure to see them again. 

I shall be very happy to see Sir Henry and Lady Fitzher- 
bert. It is so delightful to see a face from England. You 
may depend upon my paying them every attention in my 
power; and I shall thank you to tell them that I hope they 
will come here on their first arrival. I was very glad to see 
the Principal: he is looking very well, and I found him a 
remarkably unprejudiced person. He says that if he lived in 
Ireland he would support Bible Societies. I am sorry he 
stayed so short a time only one day. My mother is quite 
grieved too about Mr. Chevalier's illness. I hope he is not in 
any danger. ... I continue my Greek studies, and am 
very far advanced in Xenophon I mean that I have read 
many pages of it. You know my passion for languages. I 
shall begin Latin soon, please God. It is necessary to 
moderate these studies, lest they take too strong a hold of 
the time and thoughts, and take the place of better things. 
Catherine is looking remarkably well, thank God; daily 
improving in her education. She is getting forward in 
Italian, and is a very fair French scholar. She will, of 
course, if she be spared, learn the dead languages. 

VOL. I. 


I beg to be affectionately remembered to my uncle and 
cousins, and believe me to be, my dear aunt, 
Your very affectionate niece, 


" The following letter was written to the widower of that 
aunt to whom she had so often poured out her inmost soul 
She had an instantaneous death from heart complaint at her 
niece's house in London while on a visit to her there." 

Wilton Street, April 24th. 

MY DEAR UNCLE, I felt very sorry to leave your hospita- 
ble dwelling and your afflicted circle, whom I hope it will 
please God to comfort with the best of all consolations. 
Whether in quitting or returning to Yalding Vicarage it is 
impossible for the mind not to dwell with sad regret upon 
the kind and gentle being who was always so glad to see us 
and so sorry to part from us. Dear aunt Warde ! her memory 
will always dwell in my heart. Catherine and I occupied 
the room in which she died last night, and felt only tender 
sadness and not the least of that terror which at her age the 
character of death often inspires. 

I was pleased to see so much strength of mind in one so 
young. We have often thought and spoken of the dear 
circle we left at Yalding, and many a prayer has been 
breathed that the conviction of the happy immortality my 
beloved aunt is enjoying will pour balm into the hearts of 
her afflicted family. Miss King wrote a very kind note to 
Anna making the most particular enquiries about your family. 
She called yesterday, so did Mr. Finch, Mr. Dillon, and 
Dr. Thorpe. I hope to hear good accounts of you all. We 
found Catherine, thank God, in excellent health, and looking 
remarkably well. My mother is very poorly. . . . It is 
observed that there are a great many people in mourning now. 


I beg to be affectionately remembered to all my dear cousins, 
and believe me to be, my dear uncle, with many thanks for 
all your kind attentions, 

Your very affectionate niece, 


Chester Terrace, Regent's Park, June 7th. 

MY DEAR SARAH, Although your account of yourself 
upon the whole is a melancholy one, yet it gives me pleasure 
to find that you have returned to your usual employment. 
Next to the consolations of religion,! am sure that an effort 
to take an interest in some pursuit, is the best possible mode 
of learning to endure suffering ; and certainly the goodness 
of God has bestowed upon us a vast number of delightful 
objects of pursuit. We are all here very busy about 
natural philosophy, and find the day too short for all we 
have to learn. 

Our comfort is much impaired by anxiety on my mother's 
account ; I consider her state of health very precarious ; and 
1 know not how soon it may please God to deprive us of 

Dr. Arnot, however, does not seem to be alarmed ; and it 
is my hope that God will spare her some time longer. My 
mind possesses a strong affinity for happiness; to choose 
the bright side is my natural bias. It is not a sort of dogged 
cheerfulness, but a susceptibility to every impression ; and, 
as by the goodness of God, there is more in the world to 
delight than to grieve, a more frequent presence of pleasing 
than painful objects; if the mind be in a healthy state, its 
general feelings will be happy. There is the beauty of 
nature, and we have a great deal in the Regent's Park; it is 
quite as much the country as any gentleman's park, and the 
enjoyment is enhanced by the consciousness of being near to 
many sources of profitable entertainment. The Scientific Lec- 


tures, three times a week, are I think worth being in London 
for; they will terminate in July. I am very much obliged 
to you all to Jane in particular, who did so much for the 
bazaar. Your contributions were much admired, and I was 
desired by Mrs. Vansittart to present the thanks of the 
lady patronesses to you, for that magnificent contribution. 

Do not, my dear Sarah, allow your thoughts to dwell on 
the distressing past. Think of your dear and excellent 
mother as a bright and happy spirit hovering around you, 
and delighting to see you engaged in pursuits whose ten- 
dency will be to improve you in an intellectual and spiritual 
sense. I am sure it would grieve her, if a happy spirit 
could grieve, to think that you were cherishing sorrowing 
recollections, unavailing regret, which speak a repining 

The only circumstance to be regretted in our new abode 

is the distance not only from Mr. but indeed from 

any good preacher, we are obliged to take a long hot walk 
every Sunday to hear Howels, who is magnificent. In the 
evening Anna and I went last Sunday to a large Church in 
Albany-street. The total ignorance of Scriptural truth, the 
miserable theology, struck her and me with surprise and 
sorrow, and he is a young man too. I rather suspect from 
the tone of his preaching that he must be a Socinian. This 
neighbourhood is very badly off for preachers. The only 
clergyman in this neighbourhood who preaches the grand 
Scriptural and Protestant doctrines of justification by faith 
is a very high Calvinist, arid consequently I do not like to 
hear him. The other Churches are miserably supplied ; that 
in Albany-street is an awful exhibition of the conduct of 

our bishops, who will not ordain such a man as Mr. H 

because he has not been at the University, whilst they will 
admit such an ignorant, nay, positively perjured individual, 
when the Articles of our Church are considered. As to the 


man in Albany-street it is positively fearful. The Bishop of 
Norwich is the only one who gives the least promise of 

ordaining Mr. H ; the rest refused because he had not 

a University degree. The foolish men rather than give up 
their " ipse dixit" will leave a man like Mr. H empty- 
ing our churches instead of filling them as he would wish to 
do if they would let him. I am much obliged to Margaret 
for her kind wish to be with my mother; I wish she had 
come up with my uncle, I should have been delighted to see 
her, and perhaps the change of scene might have done her 
good. Notwithstanding all the profitable circumstances to the 
mind which a London residence affords, I shall be very 
happy to join your circle at Yalding, and although the 
absence of dear Aunt Warde will create such a blank, yet I 
shall see her in spirit and enjoy the society of you all. My 
dear cousins, believe me to be my very very dear Sarah, 
Yours, and most affectionate, 


Tell Jane how much I thank her for the frock she is work- 
ing for Catherine. 

Burlington House, July 14. 

MY DEAR SARAH, Although you did not ask me to write 
soon, I conclude that you will not be sorry to hear from us, 
although I have nothing new to tell, and you accuse me of 
not being a very satisfactory letter writer. I have certainly 
not the pen of a ready writer; my fluency of pen bears 
no comparison with my fluency of speech. I have little to 
say except to express my regret for having left you all, and 
my thanks for Uncle Warde's kind attentions during our 
agreeable visit, and for all your kindness and attention. 

I hope we shall see you, if only for a few hours, before 
we set out for Paris. We found Aunt Akers in tolerably 


good health, for her, and everything goes on as smoothly as 
possible, and very pleasantly. Mr. , the Church Mis- 
sionary Secretary, preached a sermon in the church yester- 
day afternoon. 

I think him by no means a good preacher ; his delivery is 
not good, nor do I think he has sufficiently popular talents 
for the situation he fills. He told us what I knew before, 
that this society was the sister and not the rival of the old 
society ; the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel being 

for English colonists, and not for the heathen. The 

seem to think that our efforts should be confined to the 
colonists, and nothing done for the heathen. Had Gregory 
and others held this opinion, we English might still have 
been heathen. I confess the prejudice which still subsists 
among so large a body of the Church is a matter to me of 
the most intense surprise, more particularly as some bishops 
have joined the society, and that churches connected with 
our Establishment are formed wherever the missionaries of 
this society plant themselves. I wonder whether people wish 
that all missionary work should be done by the Wesleyans, 
the Independents, the Baptists, if they object to a Church 
Missionary Society. 

I have had a great deal to say to Miss H , and am 

convinced that she is just as rational as other people. She 
is very amiable and very generous, and in the best wisdom 
excels many of those who laugh at her ; she appears truly 
pious. I confess myself surprised at the manner in which 

I have heard Mrs. describe her ; I think her abilities on 

a par with the rest of the world. 

Colonel Phipps and Mr. Pownoll were at the Church Mis- 
sionary meeting ; the Colonel dines here to-day. Mr. Pownoll 
made a most animated speech; I wish you could have heard 
him his appeal was most earnest and powerful ; his speech 
was worth all the others. I am happy to say Mr. is 


not one of the secretaries of the society - r I think him one of 
the dullest speakers I ever heard. 

The heat was almost unbearable. I was pleased to learn 
by the report that Bidborough and Southborough last year 
sent 129 to the society. 

Is it not a great deal for such a small place ? There was 
a Mr. Hough, Chaplain to the East India Company, who 
spoke of a brother clergyman who went lately amongst the 
Syrian Christians mentioned by Buchannan ; he found they 
had no printing press, and he wished to teach them to print, 
but he had never seen types cast, and he referred to an 
Encyclopedia ; he read the detail to a goldsmith, who under- 
took to cast them, and the thing was done. Mr. Hough 
mentioned that there were twenty -five churches on the Madras 
station who had long been without European teachers ; these 
were the descendants of churches planted by the good men 
whom the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel first 
sent out. 

I began this letter yesterday, but was interrupted to go to 
Bayham Abbey. We passed several hours there. . 
The day was delightful, and we enjoyed it very much. 

I have sate down three times to-day to write, and have 
been interrupted each time. First, to go to the meeting; 
next, to dress for dinner ; and lastly, to go down to dinner, 
and presently I must get ready to walk. Lord is cer- 
tainly going to be married. 

&c., &c. 

" Subsequently to her brother-in-law, Colonel Phipps." 

Paris, September, 1833. 

We have become acquainted with a very nice French 
family; the daughter is a very accomplished young lady, 
and extremely well brought up. We meet very frequently. 


We have also formed an acquaintance with , whom it 

is probable you know. She and her sister are high reli- 
gious professors, but they do not please me. They speak in 
such a die-away tone, and they are so harsh in their judg- 
ments. Speaking the other day of a lady who had had an 
accession of fortune, they blamed her for rejoicing in the 
idea of keeping a carriage. They said that her first thought 
ought to have been, " What can I do for God." Now, as I 
know they have a carriage themselves this censure is very 

I greatly like Mr. Frederic Monod, whom we have heard 
at L'Oratorie. 

" Lady Osborne had a particular objection to cant." 

December 18, 1833. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I am very much obliged to you 
all for the interest you express about my health. I really 
do think and hope, with humble gratitude to God, that my 
head is better. I have scarcely suffered at all these three 
days, although my head is in a kind of ticklish state, and 
I cannot bear the motion of a carriage or the air of a warm 
room, or stooping. Yet I have felt so much better since 
Sunday, and 'tis now Wednesday, that I have great hopes of 
recovery ... I have given way to the complaint as 
little as I could; I mean, that I have continued my usual 
employments as much as possible. 

I am extremely obliged to Uncle Warde for the trouble 
he has taken in selling my horses, 'twas much better to sell 
them than to keep them idle. Herz has dedicated a set of 
pieces to Catherine; the first opportunity I have I shall send 
them. I have taken two dozen, and they cost a serious 
sum, seven francs and a half a piece. 


I have been much disappointed in the intention I had 
formed of seeing something of the society of the religious Pro- 
testants in France, my health not permitting me to join their 
parties, and I know that Protestantism has profited much 
by the last revolution. New chapels have been established, 
Bible and Missionary Societies flourish. In the time of 
Charles X. no new chapels were permitted. Louis 
Philippe is a good man, an excellent husband and father, 
and one who pays his debts, unlike Charles. I do not know 
whether you heard that a year after his dethronement, a 
priest, by the direction of the Archbishop of Paris, pro- 
claimed King Henry V. in a church; I think it was the 
quartier du Luxembourg. The people indignantly destroyed 
the church, but spared the pictures, writing upon them in 
chalk, " respectez les beaux arts." 

We have lately become acquainted with a very delightful 
person, Mrs. Steele, a very pious person, with charming 
manners. Mr. Lovett has a lecture in his house every Wed- 
nesday. I have been there but once, owing to my dread of 
hot rooms, but I hope, please God, to go next Wednesday. 
It is a lecture of a peculiar kind, every body is encouraged 
to ask questions and express their opinions on the points dis- 
cussed in the chapter. Mr. Lovett is a very fine preacher, 
but his health is very bad, he spits blood. 

We see nothing of the Sabbath breaking this metropolis 
is famous for, as our quarter is quite a Goshen. Between 
Catherine's masters and my head we have been but twice to 
the Louvre. It is, however, a great treat to visit the glorious 
gallery, 1,400 feet long, full of noble pictures. Anna is 
divided between oil painting and embroidery, even I try to 
embroider, but I do it infamously. Anna and Catherine 

extremely well. Jane's friend, Miss , lives in Paris. I 

am sure it must be she, she has taken lessons from Kalk- 
brenner on the piano, and is a celebrated performer. She is 


the daughter of an Irish physician, and is very handsome. 
I am sure from the description it is Jane's friend. 

I cannot sacrifice my oil painting, nor do I think my head 
would be the better for it if I did. You see Mrs. suf- 
fers, and she neither paints nor studies. 

Dr. Arnott agrees with you in thinking my complaint 
nervous, but I have not believed it. Like you, he considers 
it of the same nature as the cough, but I do not think nervous 
medicines do me any good. The complaint came upon me in 
Brighton. We are here in very good air, and I cannot 
think the place disagrees with me. I think the disease, 
whatever it is, has been coming on for a long time. In 
London I always awoke with a headache, but as it went off 
in the course of the morning I did not mind it. The journey 
to Brighton seemed to fix it. I am better, and I hope to 
continue so. Believe me, my dear Margaret, with love to 
my uncle and cousins, 

Your most affectionate, 


It seems to me that we are more likely to meet here than 
if I had gone to Ireland. 

" After this visit to Paris Lady Osborne proceeded to 
Geneva, where she formed a friendship with Monsieur and 
Madame de Sismondi." 

" In a letter from Lady Osborne full of domestic details the 
following passage occurs which the Editor deems worth 
inserting on account of the present crisis of the Church" : 

I have bought a handsome horse for myself that I may 
ride with Catherine ; perhaps the relaxation may do me 


good. It is impossible to be in this quarter without feeling 
stimulated to do good to the people. Mr. O'Callaghan works 
away although he receives no tithes, but he has a private 
fortune. For our part we pay all the tithes for the tenants. 
I wish the House of Lords had passed the bill prepared in 
1833 ; it had no appropriation clause. The clergy might 
have been comfortable. 

" Another passage in this letter speaks of the weight and 
responsibility of small and great cares being almost heavier 
than she was equal to. 

Lady Osborne was thrown off an Irish jaunting car when 
she met with the accident referred to. 

From this letter it may be concluded that subsequently 
such tenants as were granted leases paid the tithes, but in 
fixing the rents they were not considered, and in almost 
every case throughout Ireland the landlords only, paid the 
tithe rent charge after the Tithe Composition Act" 


MY DEAR MARGARET, I thank you for your kind enquiries 
after me. 1 have, thank God, experienced no ill effects from 
my accident, but my poor nose is far from well ; the wounds 
on the bridge continue to throw up proud flesh, and Dr. 
Shiel to whom I shewed it yesterday says it must be touched 
frequently with caustic. I have a strong suspicion that Dr. 
Sloane who has hitherto been attending me, has not seen the 
necessity of this, and therefore I mean to have Shiel, but he 
won't come until I have first spoken to Dr. Sloane, for while 
I am waiting Dr. Shiel says that it will never heal until the 
proud flesh be removed. I fear I shall be marked but that 
is the worst that can happen to me. I had certainly a very 
great escape that I did not break my nose or put my eyes 
out, but I can't deny that I regret the marks. 


I have been giving away blankets and flannel, and I am 
so tormented by groups of ragged poverty that my mornings 
are devoid of peace and comfort. We have had to pay 700 
for tithes this year, a serious diminution of income. I wish 
the Lords had passed the bill proposed in 1833; it would 
have been a great relief to the landlords. My opinion is that 
they are very considerate to their tenants, the exception is 
where they are otherwise; but they are not rich, their pro- 
perty is always heavily mortgaged for the fortunes of 
younger children. Mr. Woodward is very anxious that the 
tithe system should be done away, and clergymen paid by 
Government. He says that he believes that tithes have been 
an obstacle to the spread of the reformation from the unkind- 
ly feeling engendered, and he thinks the present attitude 
into which clergymen are thrown in being called upon to 
prosecute is the worst thing in the world. He has determined 
rather to bear the loss. The reason why we have to pay so 
much is because the tenants have not leases. The house is 
not yet finished, the mechanism for hot water not having 
come home, but it is beginning to look well. The book cases 
in the hall are very handsome. I have been spending so 
much upon furniture that I tremble at the idea of the bills. 

That extorting fellow still holds out. We are all 

indignant at his getting his demands, but I fear it will come 
to that or we must lose the Phipps' in the neighbourhood, 
and I have set my heart on their coming. We passed a few 
days not long ago at Mr. Congreve's. Mrs. C. is a delightful 
woman, and expresses a great affection for us. I think her 
friendship a valuable acquisition ; she is a truly estimable 
person ; there was a very large party staying in the house. 
We have a great many invitations to stay out, but Catherine 
hates leaving home except for a few hours. I am, however, 
determined before the Phipps come to spend a few weeks in 
Dublin. I have now actually sent for Dr. Shiel as Sloane 


has never come. I conclude the same thing has occurred as 
that which happened when you were here. We believe that 
Mr. Arehdall is to get some of the money so generously 
contributed by the English, although it is not usually be- 
stow ed on curates. The clergymen about this neighbourhood 
are not, I hope, in actual distress. Mr. Woodward only gets 
tithes from the Protestants, and as these tenants have leases 
they do not like us to pay for them. I cannot make out 
how he gets on as he does. 

Mr. Rhoades, now the clergyman of Clonmel, is a delight- 
ful person, he came here quite disinclined to all that was 
going on in the religious way the Church Missionary and 
Bible Societies. He has now become a zealous supporter, 
and the consequence has been a most astonishing improve- 
ment in Clonmel. He is married to a woman of fortune ; 
they are independent of tithes ; they have a nice glebe house, 
and the Protestants pay their share, but the R. C. nothing. 

I suppose you have heard of , the priest of . 

What a wonderful event ! two thousand parishioners may be 
considered as having come over ; at all events they have 
adhered to a priest who has renounced all the errors of 
Popery. I shall not close this until after Dr. Shiel has been 
here in order to tell you what he thinks of my poor nose ; 
it cannot fail to be marked. I hope you will come over with 
uncle Warde and Ramsay, and pay us a long visit this year. 
Give my love to my uncle and cousins, and believe me, my 
dear Margaret, 

Your most affectionate cousin, 


" When Lady Osborne first thought on the subject of the 
National Board of Education, her views were as detailed in 
the following note, but she attended, a great meeting at 
Exeter Hall against the system, and in listening to the argu- 


ments brought forward, she made up her mind in favor of it ; 
her taking action, as in this note, not being the result of 
deliberation, but impulse. She came to the conclusion that 
it was well children should learn to read, even though the 
Bible might be withheld in learning to do so." 


MY DEAR MARGARET. I am very glad that you happened 
to send for . . . as it gives me an opportunity of sending 
some papers for circulation both at Shooter's Hill and Yald- 
ing, indeed wherever they can be circulated ; will you ask 
Mr. Baines for me, if he will have the kindness to sign the 
petition at Exeter Hall; Hatchard's, 187, Piccadilly, or 
Nisbet's, Berners-street, against Mr. Stanley's anti-biblical 
system of education; Mr. Stanley confessed in the House 
that if Protestants were unanimous it must be abandoned. 
I hope that Mr. B. and his eldest son will sign it, or if they 
cannot go to any of those places themselves, if they will 
authorize me, I will get it done for them. 

Newtown Anner, September 26, 1838. 

MY DEAR MARGARET. We landed on Sunday morning at 
Waterford after a very rough passage, with Catherine and 
myself suffering much from sea sickness, very unusual with 
us; we found Mrs. Congreve delighted to see us, and very 
anxious to keep us longer with her ; however, we returned 
here on Monday; we disappointed the people who had been 
waiting to receive us by arriving so late ; the letter which 
was forwarded to us from Yalding, was from Lord Lans- 
downe, written under the impression that we should not leave 
England so soon. He expressed his regret at missing us. We 
find this place in great beauty, not a single trace of autumn, 
the foliage peculiarly rich and luxurious, and the school 
children having made most wonderful progress in every 


branch of their education, and in neatness and cleanliness 
and in needlework ; the house in great preservation, looking 
clean and bright as if just finished, in short all things most 

On Tuesday we dined at Oaklands and found my mother 
very glad to see us, and better than when we left her. Anna 
and her babies in high health and spirits. Pownoll having 
got over all shyness, most amiable and affectionate, the dearest 
little fellow in the world ; I gave him Sarah's kiss ; he talks a 
great deal, and promises to love me very much. 

There had been an impression that Lord Lansdowne was 
coming to us on the Monday, and James had the precaution 
to provide us with every kind of fish, neither he nor Colonel 
Phipps remained to see us, fancying that he might arrive 
before us, but Strother stayed to receive him alone, so you 
see how he has got over all shyness . . . Baron Pennefather 
called to day and expressed his approbation of my having 
gone out with Catherine. He said he had thought me wrong 
in letting her go to a Clonmel ball without me, and that 
had she gone out in London without me, a slur would have 

been cast on one or the other of us. Mr. judges 

differently. He considers dancing a sin, and looking at it, 
countenancing sin. How is poor dear Richard ? I am long- 
ing to receive some account of him. Dr. Arnott approves of 
Hastings as a residence. He highly praises Dr. Paris, but 
thinks it very material that Richard should comply with the 
advice of his physicians, and not take it upon himself to 
change his medicines because strong ones have been ordered. 
His complaint is a serious one, and cannot be removed with- 
out active remedies. He must not adopt the opinion of every 
old man and woman, but abide by his physician's prescriptions ; 
change of system is destructive. I hope that uncle Warde 
will soon obtain assistance in his clerical duties, it must be 
very fatiguing to him to do so much alone. 


Catherine is having her other picture, almost a profile 
framed to send to him. 

I hope when we go to England again we shall see more of 
you ; we are much beset by callers already. Pray give my 
love to my uncle and cousins, and believe me to be, my dear 

Your affectionate cousin, 


MY DEAR MARGARET, I am just enjoying an interval of 
repose after having had the house, as it often is, full of com- 
pany. Lord and Lady Dunsany, and Miss Plunkett, Colonel 
and Mrs. Palliser, and their two eldest daughters left us this 
morning ; they have been staying with us since Wednesday, 
and we have had a dinner party each day. Then we only 
returned from Derryluskan last Saturday, where we had 
been staying with the same party, and not long before that 
we had Lord and Lady and Miss Bloomfield. Mr. and Mrs. 
Christmas and Emily, Lady O'Brien, two of her sons, and 
two of her daughters, and Louisa Woodward, all staying in 
the house at the same time. Then we were staying at Lough- 

* O 

cooter, at Dromoland and at Tramore, so that I feel to have 
no rest for the soul of my foot, particularly ... I am 
so tired of this sort of life that I sigh at the recollection of 
the repose we had at Geneva ; however late we go to bed I 
am always up at 7 o'clock, that I may have some time to 
myself, as I get tired of doing company all day. You will 
perhaps wonder why I let the thing go on, but the fact is 
there are many people whom I know continually coming into 
the neighbourhood, and I feel bound to ask them. The 
Bloomfields are delightful people, they are very religious ; 
Lord Bloomfield is quite devoted to schools and religious 

Miss Bloomfield is one of the most fascinating persons I 


have ever seen, and so very pious ; she is going to be married 
immediately. Fancy what a change of life it must be to 
Lord Bloomfield, from the Court of George the Fourth, and 
from being ambassador to Sweden, to live in a wild part of 
Tipperary ; it is not like this, which is certainly an excellent 
neighbourhood. Grace P. has grown up a very superior girl, 
sings like an Italian, and is very unaffected and totally free 
from vanity. 

They are on their way to Loughcooter, Dunsanys and all. 

is a person whose mind is cast in an ordinary mould 

but she is very clever and shrewd ; Miss is a particu- 
larly nice lady like person. is very gentlemanlike; 

and, if possible, more completely ruled by his wife than most 
men, even in these days of female supremacy. It is a curious 
fact that in the whole course of my acquaintance, I don't 
know a person who is not ruled by his wife. I have several 
more letters to write, and will therefore say good bye. Ca- 
therine unites with me in affectionate love to all to yourself 
very much and cousins. We shall have the happiness I 
hope of finding you all in good health next year when we go 
to England ; Catherine is to be presented next spring please 
God. Believe me to be, my dear Margaret, 

Your affectionate cousin, 


"The Grace mentioned in the following letter is Mrs. 
Fairholme, at whose house Lady Osborne paid her last visit, 
and to whom Lady O. was greatly attached; she is also the 
sister of the Major Palliser who has given his name to 
Artillery discoveries, and to the first wife of Lord Gough's 
eldest son, now Lord Gough, whose name was most strangely 
omitted in the notice of the veteran warrior in the Times" 

" Another of her brothers is Mr. Palliser who wrote the 

VOL. I. N 


" Solitary rambles of a hunter" and who is an indefatigable 
traveller to the remote regions of the earth." 

" The following letter is inserted because it is a remarkable 
fact that such a throng should have collected on the occasion 
mentioned, and still more that order should have reigned to 
such perfection. No people can be more delightful than 
the Irish when not misguided, or more ready to give unselfish 

Newtown Anner, July 12, 1839. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, I am afraid you will think me 
very remiss with regard to G., but I have at last sent her 
ten pounds a few days ago. I am afraid you will think me 
very hard-hearted, but I feel less for her than for any one 
in her circumstances. Such intense folly brought it on. 
She made her mother sell her insurance, which she was pay- 
ing to secure G. an income; but G. came and disturbed her 
mother shortly before her death, and teazed her into getting 
and giving the money to her. She made her poor mother 
very unhappy. But what I principally feel is, that it is of 
no use to do anything for her ; nothing can do her good. 
She is a bad subject, or she would not have made so disgust- 
ing a marriage. 

We are very sorry to lose Ramsay. We could not per- 
suade him to stay longer. We have not had time to show 
him half what we wished. He has seen the slate quarry, 
Cahir, and one of our mountain farms and Glen Abbey. 
Catherine was driving him to Kiltinane the other day, when 
one of her beautiful ponies fell and cut his knees. I assure 
you, we have done our best to do the honours of the country 
to him. Catherine's fete went off brilliantly. It was a very 
pretty sight, and began very early in the morning; peasant 
girls and lads dressed in white, with green ribbon and flowers 


in their hair, dancing on the lawn. The behaviour of the 
people was admirable; not a drunken person to be seen. 
Nothing ever went off so well, and there were from twenty 
to thirty thousand persons present. I wish some of you had 
seen this fete. We are sorry it is over, and sorry that none 

of you saw it. Give my love to . How is poor dear 

Richard? I wish some of the cumberers of the earth had 
his illness instead. 

Believe me to be, my dear Margaret, 
Your most affect, cousin, 


Nice, Saturday, March 21st, 1840. 

MY DEAR MARGARET, Ever since we left Lyons we have 
been revelling in beautiful scenery, and I have constantly 
wished for you to enjoy it with us. We had a fancy to go 
down the Rhine to Avignon, and as the steam-vessels have for 
some time been unable to ply in consequence of the shallow- 
ness of the river, we engaged a common boat to float us 
down the Rhine ; seated in the carriage, we were sheltered 
from the wind and warmed by the sun, and the scenery is 
really enchanting. Rocks clothed with vineyards, now brown, 
but the rocks themselves browned with ruined castles, exhi- 
biting every variety of form and colouring, the scene varying 
with every turn of the river. 

As you approach Valence, the Alps the glorious snow- 
clad Alps become visible. We slept the first night at a 
rustic hotel, beautifully situated, close to a suspension bridge 
at Condrieu, where the second day's voyage is half com- 
pleted. My comfort was totally destroyed by a conversation 
I had with one of the boatmen. I learnt that boats are fre- 
quently lost in that (here piece torn out) ; and I found out, 
moreover, that when the wind blows hard our bark became 
unmanageable* that is to say, when the oars were required to 



take us out of the current to turn a corner and avoid a rock, 
the boatmen were obliged to call all hands to aid them, and 
violent tugs were constantly required to get us out of our 
difficulties. Sometimes the water was so shallow, that we 
could with difficulty escape running aground ; sometimes so 
deep and rapid, that we were dancing on waves. I became 
frightened, and glad I was when Valence, where we were to 
sleep, appeared glittering in the sunset, with the dark view 
of Alps in the background. 

We landed and slept at a very comfortable little hotel, 
where we supped as usual in our bedroom; the weather 
was more stormy and the river more alarming ; we con- 
stantly passed stranded boats. Sometimes there was a line 
of barges drawn up by horses, and it was a nice matter to 
avoid them. The wind driving us against them, once we 
struck against a rock ; we had seen what was coming, and 
could not tell what might be the result ; however, the boat 
stood the shock without breaking, but my terror was inde- 
scribable when I saw how ungovernable it was. The Rhone 
is so unlike the Medway ; at last we were driven upon a 
rock; the men moored the boat, and went to look for deep 
water, and we were like Robinson Crusoe upon a desert 
island, for an hour and a half still in the boat. At length 
our men returned, bringing three additional boatmen. They 
pulled the boat over to the other side ; we were again in the 
current and in deep water, and dancing upon waves. " It 
was here," said one of the boatmen coolly, " that the steamer 
struck ; it was a deep perpendicular rock." This was not 
the kind of intelligence calculated to calm my mind. Ca- 
therine enjoyed the excitement, though even she was some- 
times alarmed. They promised to land us at Bourg, the 
first village we could gain. Never did time seem to move 
so slowly. At length we approached the brown village, 
with its large ancient convent. We landed, and went to a 


poor inn ; Catherine was so bewitched with the boat, that 
she still wished to go on the next day. Witli a beating heart 
and fervent prayer I was walking down to the river with 
the rest of our party, and she persisting that there was no 
danger, when we met one of the boatmen, who told us that 
the wind had risen so much, it would not be safe for us to 
go. I felt more thankful to God than I can express for this 
information. The carriage was disembarked, post-horses 
were sent for, the village of course affording none, and in 
three hours we were rattling away to Avignon. Every time 
I caught sight of my enemy, the" Rhone, I felt renewed 

On our arrival at Avignon, the mistress of the hotel said 
that a great alarm had been felt about us ; a week ago a 
boat struck against a bridge, one gentlemen was cut in 
two by the oar, and another drowned. We were glad to be 
restored to the comfort of a sitting-room and a delightful 
bedroom, and we stayed Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday at 
Avignon. We were much interested in visiting the ancient 
palace of the Popes and the direful remnants of the Inqui- 
sition ; a priest in his robes was visiting it at the same time 
with us. In it was the tower in which that horrid tribunal 
burnt their prisoners, and the instruments of torture. We 
drove to Vaucluse, an enchanting spot, with its (torn) ; rocks, 
bright scenery, fountains, and recollections of Petrarca it 
is indeed a spot for a poet. There is at Avignon, as at 
Lyons, a museum, with some good pictures, a museum of 
natural history, a public library, extensive public walks, with 
seats for the enjoyment of the people. We left Avignon for 
Nice last Wednesday, and drove through delicious scenery, 
varying in character each day, the olive tree improving in 
size and luxuriance until we reached Nice. From Frejus 
the scenery began to be sublime, in character like the Jura 
how much I wished for you ! I will not weary you by de- 


scriptions, always dull, but I acknowledge that my enjoy- 
ment was not unmingled with fear. I cannot get over my 
apprehension of precipices ; and I think you would be alarmed 
with four horses on a road without the slightest parapet, nor 
would the glorious beauty of the scenery render you unmind- 
ful of the sense of danger. The drive from Antibes to Nice 
is loveliness embodied, through olive and orange trees, a plain 
bounded by the sunny Alps, and the blue the clear light 
blue classical Mediterranean, sometimes on your right, some- 
times on your left, and no precipices it was unmixed en- 
joyment. We are here in a comfortable hotel, no small 
pleasure to us, who have often slept at very bad ones, cold 
tiled rooms, without one bit of carpet even by the bed ; this 
when we have either gone beyond or stopped short of the 
usual visiting places ; and in spite of the bright sunshine and 
clear blue sky, we should have been very cold, had we not 
provided ourselves with fur chancellieres for the feet. 

On Thursday night we slept at a little inn on the top of a 
mountain. Our room was very large ; we could not shut 
the door from the smoke. It was a wild retired spot, and 
alarming thoughts crossed my mind. Men were passing 
before the door with lights in the middle of the night, but a 
little reflection told me there was no danger. On Tuesday, 
please God, we set out for Genoa, and there will be three 
days of terror for me ; precipices, with the Mediterranean 
rising under them, and no barrier, and sometimes torrents 
rush from the mountains. I am tortured with alarm before- 

They give us here excellent green peas for dinner, and 
oranges with their stalks. Nice is a beauteous place. Our 
friend Mr. Hartley is the clergyman here ; he is a very clever 
agreeable man. He says it was by going to war Mr. Pitt 
made Napoleon. He quite agrees with me as to the folly 
and sinfulness of the war on the part of Great Britain. Had 


we had an Elizabeth or a Burleigh, instead of George III. 
and Mr. Pitt, England would not have been groaning under 
her national debt, and what good have we got by the war ? 
What good have we done by it? Napoleon perished at St. 
Helena, instead of dying in France; the British name sullied 
by her ungenerous conduct to a fallen foe. 

What had we to do with the choice of a sovereign ? It 
was no business of ours ; and I can't see we did any other 
good by it except to load ourselves with debt to a large 
amount. The only result of the war was Louis the 
Eighteenth's short reign and Charles the Tenth. You speak 
of George the Third as a Christian. Now, could a Christian 
undertake an offensive war? Scarcely. But, as I converse 
with people of other countries, I am more and more con- 
vinced that though no good has been done to any by the war, 
that England has suffered more than any other permanently, 
because she has debt. I am afraid you will designate all 
this as sad heresy, but many wiser than I agree with me. 
I am sorry to hear that Uncle Warde has not recovered his 
strength. You should make him drive out in the carriage; 
gentle exercise in the open air, and perhaps change of air 
to another place, might do him good. I hope Ramsay is 
well. I love Ramsay better than ever. I often wish I could 
show him the singular mode of culture in France. In this 
rich soil the little patches of different crops, intersected by 
olive and orange trees, make the country look like a garden. 
To-day, Mr. Hartley, Catherine, and I, were walking up a 
very high hill, to look at this beautiful bay, and the delight- 
ful view, when the sky, so blue, with one single exception, 
every day since we came to France, suddenly became over- 
clouded. Mr. Hartley pointed out to us a phenomenon which 
he had never seen before, though it is not uncommon in the 
Mediterranean, two water-spouts. They looked like two 
immense columns, reaching from the sky to the sea, and the 


sea seemed to rise to meet it. Mr. Hartley says it would 
sink a ship, and that ships fire a cannon at them to disperse 

I am very glad to hear that Caroline is at last made happy 
in a child, and a little girl too. I am sorry to hear that poor 
dear Richard is suffering from the east winds. Pray direct 
to me very distinctly, Poste Restante, Roma, to which place 
I pray God in His goodness may bring us safe. My horror 
of precipices amounts to something like loss of reason ; it is 
too dreadful to think of it and the torrents. Let me hear 
how Uncle Warde and dear Richard are. Believe me to be, 
with much love to you all, 

Yours most affectionately, 


Catherine sends her love ; she does not write, because I 
have told you all; she is looking very well and in high 

Bagni Caldi, Bagni di Lucca, June 21, 1840. 

MY DEAR ANNA. Notwithstanding our having the coolest 
situation at the Baths a drawing-room on which the sun 
never shines, and tiled floors, and great ventilation some- 
times strong enough to blow down a chair I am beginning 
I say, notwithstanding all this, to find the heat excessive, 
to-day especially. Church has knocked me up. We have, 
thank God, cool mornings, cool evenings, and cool nights, and 
we sleep with our windows open. The country about is very 
beautiful, we are living amongst mountains, but this is the 
best we have to boast of. The society is second rate, though 
there are some clever agreeable people ; the gentlemen sketch, 
and some of them remarkably well ; there is a good natured 
one who lent me a drawing of the Bagni Caldi, much smaller 


and neater than I could do from nature, that I will copy and 
send to you. 

You have heard from Catherine how busy I have been 
about Italian. I had rather neglected the language for com- 
pany, but as I once knew it I soon recovered it, and now 
speak it very fluently. There is a difficulty in getting op- 
portunities of practice. The society here is entirely English, 
and will be until the Duke comes. 

I made out a few of the Italian nobility at the Bagni Caldi 
and took a bold step for their acquaintance. The first lady 
I saw is old, toothless, and inarticulate. 

The Signora Spada was ill, but she sent her son to call 
on me a tall pale middle aged gentleman very studious, 
and with a highly cultivated mind; 1 enjoyed his conversa- 
tion very much. The third lady is lively and chatty, but 
not clever. They are coming to us to-morrow night, when 
we are to have a very large party, but with all the windows 
open we hope not to find it hot. 

At Florence even the nights are hot, but here they are 
always cool. My cowardice makes me feel uncomfortable 
even in riding the little ponies of the country, and the lan- 
guor of the climate makes me dislike walking, even in the 
evenings. " Portantini" is the only mode of conveyance 
that suits me now, except a carriage. 

I wish Catherine's ponies were come. I think after those 
scorching days a drive would be so refreshing. The object 
of rivalry here amongst the three districts of which this place 
is composed is, who has the coolest situation. 

We live high up on a mountain, and the church is at the 
foot of another mountain, so we have to go up and down both 
going and returning, it is an awful undertaking. 

There is a large family in this house, they have the apart- 
ments overhead, for a wonder they are males, the eldest 
only eighteen the youngest fourteen ; this little boy 


sings like a woman and very beautifully ; they are coming to 
us to-morrow evening, and will be a help to the heaviness of 
the party. Catherine has revealed to Louisa the sad fact that 
the single gentlemen of this place are all doctors of physic, 
and yet don't hear of anybody being ill. 

I made an awkward acquaintance the other day of one 
who has caused herself to be spoken of, and whom nobody 
visits. I had gone in the heat to see a procession of the 
Festa d'Iddio ; on my return I thought I would call on a 
certain French countess of the name of . 

The Italian chairman took me to an English lady of the 

name of . I told her I had called by mistake, but 

the next day she returned my visit. Mrs. Stisted who is here 
every summer, and is a kind of mistress of the ceremonies 
or queen of the place, who lives a mile and a-half off, drove 
up to tell me what a blunder I had committed ; luckily I had 
given the couple no invitation, being disgusted with the 
vulgarity of the husband. This will be a lesson of caution. 

The tea parties here remind one of an English country 
town; we have, however, one lion Sir George Back, the 
traveller, and he is coming to us to-morrow evening. We 
have a German here, a clever man, and an artist ; I spoke a 
little German to him in the evening. We have some fine 
dressy ladies, and now some very good clergymen. We have 
a very nice, clever, agreeable man, a friend of the Arch- 
bishop's, with a very nice wife. 

We have just returned from a delightful walk, certainly 
the Italian nights are delicious; so soft and bright, and 
thousands of fire flies dancing about from branch to branch ; 
you know how much one thinks of a few glow worms in 
England ; well, we have the glow worm here, but we have 
also every sprig illuminated with the beautiful firefly. I 
think it fair also to state, although I did complain of the heat, 
that when we stay quietly in this house, we suffer no incon- 


venience. We are far better off than people are in England 
when hot weather does come, from being better prepared, 
and we have such beautiful shaded walks about us, that we 
have almost always a retreat, at almost any hour of the day ; 
and the view from the balcony which runs the whole length 
of the house is delightful. 

Will you be so good as to tell colonel Phipps that the reason 
I did not get maps for the Bonmahon school, is because they 
are always given to the trained masters, and I thought mine 
would have got them by Patrick's day, but if the Board has 
changed its plan, of course they must be got. Catherine and 
I will pay for them ; but they have hitherto always been given 
on a master leaving the Board after being trained, that is the 
way I got them for Glenpatrick. I paid for Newtown maps 
because Jameson did not go to the Board, but I got them 
gratis for Glenpatrick, because Mahony did. 

I do not know that I have anything interesting to say about 
the people here, the usual predominance of the female sex; 
there are plenty of moustachioed beings here ; sad frequenters 
of the gambling house. That detestable nuisance is to be 
found in this beautiful spot, as it is at Baden. 

The poor people are gentle, civil, honest, and though very 
poor, are always neatly dressed, no rags ; rags seem to be 
confined to poor dear Ireland. When I get back to Ireland 
and have no housekeeping, I hope I shall be able to do some- 
thing substantially good for the poor. 

You must not fancy that we are here for ever, or for 
amusement; we are here because it is the coolest and the 
healthiest spot in all Italy to pass a summer, and we stay to 
avoid twice crossing the Alps, as we are to winter in Rome 
and Naples. We shall not at Naples have the same honest 
peasantry we have here ; we shall not have the security against 


Though the Duke of Lucca is the sovereign of a very 
little state, he is the grandson of the King of Spain, and he 
is married to a daughter of the Emperor of Austria. He 
is a great encourager of learning, and fond of reading the 
Bible. He is even making a translation himself. 

Tuesday Morning. 

Our party last night went off extremely well. I was 
as good as gold, not devoting myself to any one particular 
person, but seeing that no one was neglected, and making 
proper introductions to all; and the room was deliciously 
cool, and so well lighted as to look well. 

Mrs. Harman wants to introduce us to a Mrs. Hare, a sort 
of rival queen of Mrs. Stisteds', and who is said to be more 
select in her society, but Catherine laughs at the idea of 
the patroness of a Lucca Almacks; and we shall choose 
our own society upon different principles from those by 
which Mrs. Hare is guided in the selection of hers. 

You ask me how I like the total change. My spirits are 
generally low, and I feel my separation from you all very 
much. As I advance in life I find the society of strangers 
less capable of making me amends for the want of those I 
love. I should like you to have a little girl. I wish to 
increase the sphere of my own interests as I grow old. 
The expansion of the affections is always good. I think 
you would rather like this place. But speaking of my 
mourning after you all, there is a dear little boy in the 
house, five years old, that reminds me of my precious 

I am quite vexed to find by your letter that Dunlop's 
dawdling has so long delayed the servants, if they are to 
wait a month, their coming at all is useless. We cannot 


use our chariot up this steep hill ; and we are without a 
carriage. Ever, my dearest Anna, 

Your most affectionate sister, 


Love to Colonel Phipps, Miss Smith, Louisa, and my 
precious nephews. 

" The above letter is an admirable picture of the Baths of 
Lucca, as they were then. The house Lady Osborne occu- 
pied commanded such a lovely view that the Grand Duke 
afterwards made it a residence for himself. 

Lady Osborne was greatly pleased with the knowledge 
that her acquaintance, Signer Spada, possessed in his palace 
at Rome the identical statue, ' at the base of which Great 
Caesar fell.' This seemed to confer upon himself, in her 
eyes, a sort of classical interest." 

Naples, 14 January, 1841. 

MY DEAR ANNA, Suppose yourself seated in our drawing- 
room, at the window, as I am now, and you have the very 
view which I am looking at, the vignette of which I send 
you at the head of this letter. The view is just what it 
would have been if taken from this drawingroom, and that 
awful crossing which you see I must cross every day to get 
to the garden. The walk there is very gay and agreeable, 
full of one's acquaintances ; it is about a mile long, perhaps 
more. We have no private garden attached to this house, 
but a very wide and long terrace, formed by the flat roof, 
for the roofs are all flat here. This terrace forms a very dry, 
sunny, agreeable promenade, with a lovely view, and as we 
have not the morning sun on our rooms I walk there with a 


book, to bask in his beams, instead of sitting over the fire. 
Until within these few days the climate of Naples has dis- 
appointed me. The first fortnight we had a great deal of 
cold, disagreeable weather, and although when it was fine the 
sun was much brighter and hotter than it ever is at this 
season in Great Britain, I did not think that the Neapo- 
litans had any reason for being so conceited about their 

We live in a whirl of gaiety. I cannot help being amused 
by the variety of persons and characters one meets with, but 
I feel this way of life utterly unsatisfactory, and leading to 
nothing good. 

We never have an evening at home ; generally two balls 
in the week ; every Monday night there is a magnificent 
ball given by the prime nobility of Naples to the English. 
No Neapolitan can go who does not boast of at least four 
quarterings, but usually invite all the English, whom our 
Ambassador, Mr. Temple (Lord Palmerston's brother), 
recommends. The rooms are very handsome and most bril- 
liantly lighted, and the company very brilliant. 

Nothing can exceed the luxury and beauty of the ladies 
dresses, the Neapolitan ladies I mean. They are very rich 
in jewels, and they do not like to wear the same dress twice. 
The king, queen, and royal family go. The Prince of 
Salerno, the king's uncle, is just the same kind of good- 
natured man as our Duke of Cambridge ; he always comes 
up and speaks to me with great civility. We have a very 
large acquaintance ; we give dinners, and an evening party 
afterwards. The restaurateur sends them to us in charcoal, 
and we have our ovens heated, so that I never knew dinners 
so hot. When we are quite by ourselves our dinner costs 
ten shillings a day for ourselves and five servants, and we 
have no cooks' wages nor kitchen fire. 

When we have a dinner party it costs between two and 


three pounds. We dine out about twice a week, and we 
know a vast number of princes, marcheses, counts, &c. 

You know I never was very clever at recollecting faces, 
and am besides rather absent, so that I often mistake one 
person for another. At the academy the other night I apolo- 
gized to a gentleman for not having invited him to our last 
party, who had actually been at it. I had mistaken him for 
somebody else. 

There is a very gentlemanlike prince who gets 

his clothes from Stultz and affects to be English and 
melancholy, rides English horses, and is proud and reserved 
as the English are supposed to be ; he speaks French beauti- 
fully indeed all the gentlemen like better to speak French 
than Italian. 

You enquire about the lower classes here ; they do live on 
Macaroni almost entirely ; it is about a penny farthing of our 
money a pound ; it is boiled for them in the streets, and they 
often eat it there. They also eat Pumpkins, and a very little 
meat; provisions here are cheap, meat about three pence 
half-penny a pound, so you see our restaurateur need not 
lose, but his dinners are excellent ; he is nephew of the famous 
Ude. We have been a second time to Pompeii, I should 
like to go twenty times; you can imagine nothing more 

I don't know whether I described it before. You do not 
go underground. This 2,000 -year-old town is on a level 
with you. 

You enter the street of Sepulchres every tomb perfect 
the inscription as legible as if just cut the track of the 
chariot wheels on the pavement just as it was before the 
celebrated eruption ; the names over the doors of the houses 
in the streets have been transferred to the museum, as well 
as the bread on which you discern the baker's name, and you 
may see his house and his oven. There is the large unfinished 
hall for the courts of justice, with the huge columns. The 


public baths still contain the vaulted roof, and the forum, and 
the amphitheatre. The theatres with their seats, and the 
temples I feel my enthusiasm kindle as I write. No, there 
is nothing in the whole world so interesting as Pompeii, 
how I do wish you could see it ! I would give fifty pounds 
to go with you there. Of all the interesting objects, perhaps, 
the forum and the view from the temple of Jupiter, looking 
upon Vesuvius, is the most striking. 

There are some very agreeable people here amongst the 
English, people of refinement and agreeability. Lord Sligo's 
family are agreeable; Lord Altamont, the eldest son, has 
been absent in Malta, and is just returned; he is lively and 
good-humored. Our most intimate acquaintances are the 
Lockwoods they are very nice people indeed ; Mr. Hare is 
wonderfully clever. 

I am much obliged to Colonel Phipps for the interest he 
takes in the schools ; pray let the windows be mended if 
nobody else pays for them I will. It is more than time for 
the Board to send a new set of books for Newtown school ; 
they do every four years. Don't you think that the children 
paying for their books makes them take care of them. 

I shall like to receive darling Pownoll's letter. Give my 
love to all your circle, Colonel P., Miss Smith, Louisa, and 
the Smiths, to whom I will write soon. Believe me, my 
dearest Anna, yours most affectionately, 


" It is a matter of keen regret to the Editor that the letter 
to Monsieur de Sismondi, at the end of that addressed to 
his wife, should be the solitary one she possesses of those 
written to people of world-wide celebrity. After his death 
it was returned, labelled, in his handwriting as follows" : 

" Chenes, 9 Janvier, 1842. 



Vienna, January 9th, 1842. 

MY DEAR MADAME DE SISMONDI, I had the pleasure of 
receiving your kind and flattering letter on our arrival at 
Vienna, about a fortnight ago. I thank you a thousand 
times over for your kind and affectionate feelings towards 
me; it is more than I deserve, and more than gratifying to 
be remembered with regret and affection bv such indivi- 

O / 

duals by friends of such a stamp as you and Monsieur 
de Sismondi. The picture you give of Geneva now is very 
distressing; how different from the prosperous and happy 
town it was when I knew it. I am grieved too for the effect 
its deterioration has had upon dear Monsieur de Sismondi. 
I cannot bear to think of him in the debilitated state of his 
health, suffering under the depression occasioned by the 
misconduct of his fellow-citizens ; but it must have been a 
great comfort to him that his pamphlet was able to still the 
tumult of perturbed spirits, to arrest the tide of popular 
fermentation ; and I trust the good effects will be perma- 
nent, and that matters will be getting better instead of 
worse. It is a sad thing that the spirit of radicalism, of re- 
volution, should have spread in a place where the Govern- 
ment was so mild and paternal. As far as I am able to judge 
it seems a pity that it was necessary to yield to popular cla- 
mour, where it can he successfully resisted. I am sure it is 
time to resist ; for when once the people find out that they 
get their way by clamour and threats, there is no end to 
their demands. A German, with whom I am acquainted, 
happened to be near London when there was some great 
tumultuous assemblage, perhaps of a hundred thousand peo- 
ple;* well, they were dispersed by the sound or the sight of a 
single regiment. It appears to me that a government should 
never show fear. I can understand the wish to avoid blood- 
shed, but perhaps bloodshed would not have been in this case 
VOL. i. o 


necessary ; a mob are easily frightened. It seems to me that 
if we admit the principle that numbers must carry the day, 
and that they have nothing to do but show their teeth, there 
will be no end to their demands. They may claim the pro- 
perty and even the lives of their superiors ; but let them have 
to fight for it, to fight in a bad cause, even though they be 
many against a few, still they will be less willing to hazard 
the attempt. When the lower class come to fight against the 
upper, and against the laws of their country, their nerves are 
soon unstrung ; perhaps they would not strike a blow. 

I dislike Vienna excessively ; it is a cold dismal-looking 
place. The roads about it execrable; the very Prater, in 
which carriages are supposed to drive, but in this season they 
never do. Even there the roads are full of ruts and out of 
repair; the ground is everywhere covered with snow, and 
the sun never shines; then, instead of our bright fires, the 
nasty dull German stoves. We passed a most melancholy 
Christmas, without a friend or a fire. On New Year's day 
we went to Prince Metternich's reception, but it is of no use, 
for his soirees are every Sunday ; and though much less strict 
than when I had the happiness of passing that delightful 
winter at Geneva, since we now go to balls and plays, yet 
we do not go to parties on the Sunday. Really, I think it is 
a privilege to be sure of spending one quiet day in seven at 
home, and it is at least a characteristic mark of our Church 
and country that we are not Sabbath breakers. 

I do not mean to censure those who view the Sabbath in 
a different light, but still their views have at least the merit 
of being English, and that has its value with me now I have 
been so long abroad. 

Vienna society is said to be very inacessible, but we have 
hitherto had no cause to complain ; considering what stran- 
gers we are, we get on pretty well. We have an invitation 
to the Sardinian ambassador's every Thursday, and to a 


Madame Tegoborska every Friday, besides a general invita- 
tion to the Belgian and the Prussian ambassadors. We 
were at a very gay party on Friday at the ambassador's 
from Holland, and we have dined with our own, besides two 
or three quiet soirees. So much for quantity ; now for the 
quality of society. 

Vienna parties are very stiff. All the ladies sit in the 
middle of the room and chat together, calling one another 
by their Christian names, which is here the fashion, and the 
gentlemen stand round the room and talk to one another, 
but they never converse with the ladies. It is not etiquette 
to do more than to find out the state of a lady's health, and 
then to fall back again into the magic circle. 

One who ought to know it well thus describes Vienna 
society. The Princess Esterhazy said the other night, that 
" at Vienna the toilette occupied the place of politics, litera- 
ture, love, and religion; the politics relate to the marchandes 
de modes, all the love is for a coiffure, and all the jealousy 
for the toilette." Certainly the result is beautiful, for the 
ladies are exquisitely dressed, but in the morning the town 
is very dismal. The climate is bad ; the want of a public 
drive, and the general inferiority of the carriages to those in 
London and Paris ; but what is to me hateful, is the want of 
fires. My mouth waters at the thoughts of a blazing fire ; 
and I remember how brightly the sun used to shine at 
Geneva he never shines here. Vienna is foggy, like Lon- 
don, without the supereminent advantage of our own 
glorious capital. I fancy in this place literary society is 
never met with, never thought of ; the literary men are a 
class apart, and are not expected to mix with " la societe." 
I am disappointed at not having an opportunity of hearing 
Prince Metternich talk, as he has an European reputation. 
I wished to see something of him ; he was good enough to 



ask a countrywoman of ours why we did not go last Sunday, 
and when he heard the reason, told her to seduce us, but he 
never proposed our coming some other evening, and of course 
we can't go without his doing so. 

I forget whether I told you how kind people were to us 
at Munich, particularly the Sardinian minister, his mother 
and wife, the Pallavicinis ; they are a superior family in 
every sense of the word, their minds highly cultivated. We 
had a general invitation to go there, and we profited by it 
most evenings, for they were really kind friends. We liked 
our own minister, Lord and Lady Erskine, extremely ; they 
were very kind to us, and took a great fancy to Catherine. 
Our ambassador here is quite as civil and more so than we 
have a right to expect ; but he is a cold formal Scotchman, 
and I am sure will never like me. I think he will be sur- 
prised every time I open my mouth at meeting a person 
who ventures to speak without a previous adjustment of 
feeling and expressions, thoughts and sentiments, according 
to the rules of etiquette. I may be mistaken, but I think 
that is his feeling. I feel depressed when I think of the sad 
change in your cheerful and happy little circle, such as it was 
when you were all life and gladness, so kind, so amiable, and 
hospitable, and making every body about you feel so much 
at their ease, and so happy ; and dear Mr. Sismondi walking 
about and speaking so kindly to everyone ; dropping the 
treasures of his mind in rich profusion through the animated 
circle. Yes, that was society ; that was real enjoyment and 
gaiety; how unlike the stiff, cold, heartless finery of this 
sad capital. In spite of your description I shall hope to find 
some germs of former brightness when we have the happi- 
ness to go again. 

God bless you, dear Madame de Sismondi, and send you 
brighter and happier days. I hope you will be so very kind 


as to let me hear of you sometimes, for I have set my heart 
on seeing you in the summer. 

Believe me to be ever most truly and affectionately yours, 


I am going to write to Monsieur de Sismondi. 

interesting account of the sad doings at Geneva gave me 
great pain, particularly on your account, as I can see how 
deeply it distresses you. It is, however, refreshing in an 
age when public men are generally party men, to meet a 
real patriot like you, one who feels so unselfishly and so 
generously for the honour and dishonour of his country. I 
trust, however, that it will please God to disperse the clouds 
which have lately hung over the moral atmosphere of your 
beautiful Geneva, and that you will have the happiness of 
seeing all bright again. 

I join with you in lamenting the party which has risen up 
in our Church, which seems to be stripping the Reformation 
of all its glory, and bringing back Popery in essence if not 
in name. I had an opportunity of a close acquaintance with 
Popery in Italy, and it certainly did not rise in my esteem. 
What a wonderful system of worldly wisdom it is, for it 
possesses the singular faculty of weaving a mesh round all 
who have once been received into its pale, a mesh from which 
they either cannot or will not break loose ; for those who 
disbelieve the doctrines of the Church of Rome and despise 
her tricks, are just as obedient to her decrees as the most 
superstitious votary. To effect this, what a curious web of 
worldly policy she has woven round the domestic and family 
ties, as if religion were a question of hereditary descent, and 
not a matter of vital truth. 

It gives me great pleasure that you and the Whately's 


have become friends ; it is, as you say, a fresh tie between 
us, but I hope we need none. I have ever thought, felt, 
and spoken of you with a warmth of regard, esteem, and 
veneration, which I shall retain as long as I live ; and I hope 
and trust that in this world, as well as in the eternal im- 
mortal system, that my friendship with you and Madame de 
Sismondi will ever continue. That you have honoured me 
with yours, has always been one of my proudest boasts; and 
I hope that I shall always have the happiness to preserve it. 
I pray God to send you better health and a renewal of your 
former cheerfulness, and I trust before long that we shall 
have a happy meeting. 

Believe me to be, 

My dear Monsieur de Sismondi, 

Yours very affectionately, 


" Lady Osborne in speaking of the observance of Sunday 
as an English one, did not mean to put it on so low a 
ground, but on one that would weigh with the reader." 

Mount Congreve, 6th January. 

MY DEAE SARAH. Though it is late to send a new year's 
gift, I beg you to consider as such, the little collar I enclose 

Some days ago my friend Mrs. Hill sent me a review of 
the Archbishop of Dublin's work, and asked me what I 
thought of it ; I returned for answer, that it was very clever 
and very spiteful that it contained some truth, which could 
only serve to render the malignity more mischievous. I had 
a letter to say that it was written by himself. This shows what 
a wonderful man he is to write such a very severe critique 
upon himself; it winds up with the remark that when the 
Archbishop dies his greatest admirer will be shut up in his 


coffin, and that his writings will soon follow. Catherine and 
I have been staying here since Tuesday, and we were to go 
home the next Monday, but Mrs. Congreve begged so hard 
that we should stay here to meet Lady Sophia Macnamara, 
that Catherine has consented to stay till Wednesday. 

I hear the luncheon bell ring and so must say good bye. 
The children had a Christmas tree, not a grand affair as usual, 
but a small one which they dressed themselves. There were 
only the poor about the place present, and the children pre- 
sented to all the labourers flannel jackets for working in, and 
two pairs of warm worsted stockings, and two shirts to each, 
which makes them very comfortable. 

There was a sturdy little child of four or five years old. 
I asked him how old he was, and he said "about twenty years 
old." Jane Congreve has just come to call me down. 

It is a lovely spring day, and I have had a long walk. 
Love to all with you, ever, my dear Sarah, 

Your affectionate cousin, 


This collar has been done by a poor lady who works for 

Admiralty, May 20th. 

MY DEAR ANNA. The letter you sent me from was 

indeed most touching, and I return it thinking you might 
like to keep it. I pity her less for the loss of her child than 
for the loss of her strong-minded brother, who was always 
such a kind and affectionate brother to her. You remember 
his travelling night and day to comfort her in her 

I think the composure with which faced death 

was wonderful, as he had never given evidence of being 
religious, although I believe after all the care he had always 


shown in subduing temper, is an unmistakeable evidence of 
strong religious principles. I remember asking good Mr. 

whether he had mastered temper. His reply was " I 

should have a very poor account to give of my religion, if it 
did not teach me to subdue my temper." I think there must 

have existed a principle of religion in his mind, or 

could not have conquered his temper ; he was, besides, atten- 
tive to the observances of religion. He attended church 
regularly and read prayers himself in his family every 

I go out very little. Lord Lansdowne asked me last Satur- 
day to a full dressed party ; I thought it kind to ask an old 
woman like me, but Catherine was too tired to go, after the 
drawingroom, which had been crowded and fatiguing, and I 
did not like to go to Lansdowne House alone, thinking it 
would look ridiculous to march through those splendid rooms 
a stranger. We give but few dinners, however the Osbornes 
give one to-day. We ought to go to a party at an Official's, 
but I don't think we shall go, after our own dinner in short, 
Catherine, between indolence and disinclination, very often 
stays at home. 

I have been prevented, by circumstances, from seeing 
Ramsay, and you know that he can only drive out on Satur- 
day. Next Saturday we have a party at home, but the 
Saturday after I mean to have him to meet me at the Crystal 
Palace, and we can sleep at the hotel close by, and go to the 
Crystal Palace and Sydenham Church on Sunday. 

We went after our company left us to Mr. James Wilson, 
and found the friends who had left us assembled there. I 
forgot to say Mr. Delane, who was at our dinner party, was 
not there, he is very agreeable, in spite of his abusing the 
ministry. He is the editor of the Times, and the author of 
the attacks. 

We are expecting to be turned out. I am learning to be 


resigned, but Catherine dreads to lose her beautiful house 
more than anything else. 

Give my love to Colonel Phipps and Henrietta. 
Ever, my dear Anna, 

Your affectionate sister, 


You cannot think how lovely the Crystal Palace is. There 
is a stream of warm water in it bearing red and blue water- 
lilies. The flowers are most exquisite. 



" The Blue Book remains as witness to the very lucid 
and convincing nature of the evidence Lady Osborne gave 
before a Committee of the House of Lords on the subject of 
National Education, which, at the time, was much applauded. 
The following letter being written when the evidence was 
given, this letter is inserted as the first of those to her 

Nerot's Hotel, Clifford- street, Friday, about 1837. 
My DEAREST CATHERINE. What with the tide and the pigs 
I could not get off from Clifton until nearly 5 o'clock on 
Wednesday. We reached Marlborough and its beautiful 
hotel that night. I was struck more than ever with the 
wonderful richness, order, and neatness of England ; every 
house, every cottage, looked as if it had been arranged for 
show, and through the open doors the cleanness of the floors 
struck an eye so much used to the filth of our poor Irish 
cabins. The pleasure of the bright fair scene was poisoned by 
the thought of poor dear Ireland being so much in the back 
ground. When you come of age I mean to lay out a large 
portion of my income on the improvement of your cottages ; 
one must not attempt too much ; cleanliness and neatness 
should be effected before picturesque beauty is thought of. 


The simplest cottage is pretty when covered with roses. I do 
not think architectural beauty is required. The good Arch- 
bishop called twice yesterday before I arrived ; I have not 
yet seen him. It is very early, but I am to dine with Mrs. 
Whately to-morrow. I came through Windsor forest, it was 
in great beauty, really worth coming to England to see. 
How much I wished for you, especially when we stopped by 
George the Third's statue, at the end of the long drive, where 
vou have such a magnificent view of the Castle ; it was delici- 


ous, and I never saw anything so glorious as the forest the 
weather most lovely. I don't know how the Archbishop 
found out which of the hotels in this street I was going to, for 
I did not know myself until I saw the name. I then recol- 
lected, there are three. I had previously tried to find out 
Madame Devy, and did not succeed, but I sent Hacket there 
this morning. A box of goods was sent to me ; I bought a 
bonnet, cap, and a black cloak, but I feel tempted to change 
the latter which cost six guineas for one double the price, 
because the one I have got is trimmed with mock lace, though 
Madame Devy says it is quite proper ; however, it is better 
to get a good thing. My bonnet is grey, she is not pleased 
with me for declining to wear feathers. I have nothing to 
tell you about my movements. I wonder when his Grace 
will call, because I am in such suspense what to do. I did 
not get to town early, although I left Marlborough at 
7 o'clock, and I had already breakfasted. 

The weather was very hot, and the drivers did not wish to 
press their horses. I suppose I am vainer than ever, for I 
feel my insignificance even more than I used ; I mean I feel 
more uncomfortable about it, perhaps I feel smaller from being 
without you. Tell Louisa that my Bible is quite well and 
very comfortable ; I have already read a chapter in Hebrews 
and shall go on with it till I have something more to tell yoa. 
Pray write a line for me to Mrs. Palliser, and tell her I had 


not time to write before I left home ; 1 should like her to 
know that I am gone. Lord Gort is expected at this hotel. 

When I had got so far, in comes that saucy fellow . 

" So you are to be examined before the House of Lords, he, 
he, he ! ha, ha, ha !" He did not stay long before the Arch- 
bishop of Dublin came, and then quitted the stage. 

A little before 2 o'clock the Archbishop took me before the 
House of Lords. I passed through such a string of them ; 
every room was so full on account of the short remaining 
time, I felt rather nervous ; but I have thought so long and 
talked so much on the subject, that I got through it very 
well and it is over. Lord Lansdowne wrote privately to 
the Archbishop, " this ivitness is worth them all put 
together." The Bishop of Exeter was quite . . . but his 
Grace means to write to Colonel Phipps about it. I must 
not tell all the fine things that have been said. His Grace 
is to take me to leave my name at the Palace ; what a pity 
it is you did not come I am so very sorry I am sure I shall 
meet a great many nice people to-morrow. Going out of the 
House, my hand was caught by Lord Hawarden, who en- 
quired my address and shook my hand three times in five 

Mr. Woodward and Louisa had called in my absence; 

J comes to night again ; the Archbishop says I must 

stay to see my friends ; he says he was more nervous during 
my examination than he had even been at his own ; I said 
nothing against the clergy ; I was as good as gold. He said 

he feared the of , he is so spiteful, but I did 

not commit myself. The Bishop of had all sorts of 

information which surprised me about . . . being done 
away; he puts his soul into this business they say he is 
stimulated by revenge he looked so black, but he was very 
civil. Lord Lansdowne said he was much obliged to me. 

I will let you know how matters go on at the Archbishop's 


dinner ; his carriage took me to the Lords. Lord Lansdowne, 
amidst all his business, good-naturedly suggested that his 
Grace should take me ; the Archbishop said it was unneces- 
sary, as he would of course, but still it showed Lord L.'s good 
nature, writing to him about it. I am to be introduced to 
Lord Duncannon. There will be a drawing-room held in two 
or three weeks could you come up for it? But more of 
this after to-morrow. I shall lose post, so farewell, my 
dearest child. 

Give my love to Miss Woodward, and all at Oaklands. 
Your most affectionate mother, 


" The following extract is given from Lady Osborne's 
foreign journal, as relating to one happy month spent amidst 
glorious scenery in Leopold's Krone, and during the Salz 
Kammergut tour. 

Leopold's Krone was afterwards taken by the King of 
Bavaria as a summer palace, and in it the meeting between 
the Emperors of Austria and France took place ; one that 
originated so many surmises and events," 

I have now to say something of Leopold's Krone. It is a 
beautiful dwelling; the very staircase cost six thousand 
pounds, but the Emperor sold it to an old peasant woman 
the palace and all the rich ground attached to it for three 
thousand ! It is well constructed, and possesses every ad- 
vantage of situation. 

The first story has been occupied all the summer by an 

English family of the name of , with nine beautiful 

children ; they seem excellent people. He is the best-natured 
man in the world a little too jocular, but very kind. He 
is very fond of turning, and is making a beautiful little toy 
spinning wheel for Catherine. They are for ever asking us 


to take tea with them ; their drawing-room is of the same 
length and breadth as ours, but much higher, for it is two 
stories high it is seventy feet high and the ceiling is 

There are some good pictures representing scenes in the 
family of the prince bishop who built the house. Mrs. G. is 
a quiet, gentle, nonchalante person ; they used to complain of 
the family who inhabited the second story, the great room 
which the G.'s and we each enjoy, and they are without, for as 
I said before Captain G.'s room occupies two stories, so that 

the to get from one part of their house to another 

must cross a gallery which traverses the upper part of this 
beautiful saloon, and they can of course, in so doing, see every 
thing that passes in the saloon ; I believe this is a constant 
source of annoyance to the G.'s, and makes them fidgetty 

with the but it seems odd that such a good-natured 

man should always be ready to fling a stone at so quiet a 

couple as appear to me. He is sickly and elderly, 

very gentleman like, but rather prosy; she seems to be a yea 
and nay sort of woman, fond of prescribing physic. We did 
not see much of them, they left on Monday to go to Como 
the same day that we had the regret of parting with Miss 
Smith and Louisa. 

Miss Smith is as kind and as good a Christian as ever. 
Louisa not the lively, merry creature she was in Ireland, but 
grown almost grave. 

There is another lustschloss of the Emperor not more than 
two miles from this ; it is called Cleisheim, and is also very 
handsome, and the park equally open to the public. I was 
speaking of the cheapness for which one could live here ; 

Captain G has the ground floor and the first floor, with 

kitchen and every convenient office ; he pays for the entire 

season thirty-six pounds. As we took ours for a short time 

we pay more in proportion ; for the first month we paid a 

VOL. i. p 


hundred gulden, about ten pounds. For the fortnight longer 
which we are staying, we are only to pay thirty gulden, that 
is three pounds. 

We are fed from the old lady's gasthof capitally, and all 
our expenses including dessert, wine, wood, lights, everything 
but rent, and wages, and horses, amount to a Bavarian gulden 
(less than the Austrian) about twenty pence a day for each 
person. Captain Greaves told me he could keep four horses 
here for forty pounds a year. 

I never should wish to live better than we live here ; very 
good dinners very well dressed ; nice sweet things. We 
have been induced to stay still another fortnight, and last 
Thursday, which was the 16th of September, Catherine, our 
dear little German Pauline, and myself set out on a tour to 
the Salz Kammergut. The weather was very fine, but very 
hot; so that we could not for several hours enjoy ourselves 
at all ; but the first part of the road, although the scenery 
might be considered beautiful in most parts of the world, was 
nothing remarkable in this. We dined at a little village on 
the banks of the Mondsee, and then we took a boat and 
rowed to the end of the lake the carriage going round to 
meet us and now we enjoyed the first really beautiful 
scenery since we left our dear Leopold's Krone. The lake 
has all the beauty characteristic of lake scenery. It lies em- 
bosomed in mountains ; the length is about (the space left.) 
We got into the carriage at the end of the Mondsee, and 
drove through beautiful scenery, deep woods, up and down 
hills steep and close to one another, so as to shut out the view 
of the mountains; on descending one of these passes, we 
caught the first view of the lake of Wolfgang. The evening 
was closing in and we were obliged to imagine half its 
beauties, as we drove on along its banks to the village of 
St. Gilgal and put up for the night at a gasthaus, where 
everything was clean and comfortable ; the only disagreeable 


impression I received was from an ugly wild-looking chamber- 
maid. The goitre seems very common in all this country. 
The next morning we drove along the beautiful banks of the 
Wolfgangsee, the mountains are much higher and finer than 
those which encircle the Mondsee, and we saw all we had 
lost last evening. Pauline told us a legend of Wolfgang. 

The devil had promised the Saint to build a church on a 
rock, provided he might have the first being who entered it. 
Whilst the church was building the saint prayed very 
fervently, and the prayer was heard. The first being that 
entered the church was a swine ! The devil was so angry 
that it was not a human victim, that he fl'ew away with the 
swine, making a hole in the roof as he flew away, which 
has never been closed up, and never can be closed. 

Catherine thinks this must be an allegory, and that the 
devil was a Protestant who built the church. 

Every step as we drove along seemed to increase in beauty, 
the mountains seemed to grow more lofty ; we drove on to 

Ischl. Captain G had led us to expect a little town, 

with very little beauty. We were most agreeably surprised 
to find a very clean, pretty town, with a particularly good 
bathing establishment for baths of every description, par- 
ticularly saltwater vapour. The salt mines along these 
mountains, afford a great supply of that necessary condiment 
and some places obtain it from salt-springs, which have 
trickled through the mines ; but the bathing establishment 
and the pretty buildings all fade in importance before the 
beauty of the situation of Ischl. It is a delightful spot, and 
it is no wonder that a large portion of the " beau monde" at 
Vienna, have it for a summer residence. The buildings 
remind one of an English watering place, but no English 
watering place can boast of such beauty as Ischl, with the 
beautiful rapid river flowing beneath the steep banks on 
which it is built, and the crowning mountains in the back- 

p 2 


ground. We dined capitally at the best gastliof, and rejoiced 
to escape an English family whom we know ; at least Catherine 
rejoiced, for she is afflicted with an Anglophobia. We 
hastened to depart, and we drove along the banks of the 
river through the most enchanting scenery. 

A long drive which occupied two hours; the glorious 
mountains with the most fastastic beauty of outline the 
most wonderful and wild variety I think I shall never forget 
that most enchanting valley. We passed by a beautiful 
village, the name of which I forget, but the houses are very 
picturesque ; and some of them had inscriptions on the ex- 
terior, which is not uncommon in Germany. We drove on 
till we reached the banks of the lake of Halstadt, being the 
third lake we met on our tour, not to mention a small one 
which we had passed on our way to Wolfgang. There is a 
gasthaus on the side of the lake, and it was debated whether, 
after rowing to Halstadt, we should return and sleep there; 
but we decided not to remain at Halstadt, for which place 
we set out in a good boat on the beautiful lake by far the 
wildest and most sublime in scenery ; the mountains rising 
immediately from the lake, and so fully overshadowing it, 
that for four months in the year the inhabitants never see the 
sun. The lofty mountains their almost perpendicular 
height remind us of the lake of Thoun. The row up the 
lake occupied something more than an hour; a little before 
we reached the village we passed by the salt works, the view 
was so very romantic that I felt how glad I should be to 
sketch it. Between the wild wooded mountains there runs 
a rough, picturesque looking aqueduct to convey the salt 
water ; the gasthof is situated most beautifully on the lake, 
commanding in two directions a most beautiful view of the 
lofty broken-ridged mountains. It was a comfortable little 
country inn. They gave us at tea and breakfast the finest 
trout I ever ate a sort of rich flavor which I had never 


tasted before. I made a sketch from my room window of 
the picturesque village, where the houses hang upon the 
mountains, and the passage through the streets is by steps. 
The village looked wild and picturesque, with its houses of 
dark brown woods, almost black, so deeply are they stained ; 
and the glorious grey mountains in the background. We 
ought from this village to have ascended the mountains to 
see a fine waterfall and two smaller lakes, very beautifully 
situated; I shall always regret that we did not go, but 
Catherine had slept badly the night before and did not feel 
equal to the undertaking ; here after walking an hour where 
no road can be made, you would come upon a village beau- 
tifully situated which contains 1,200 Protestants, who, by 
enduring much persecution, have at last won for themselves, 
with God's help, toleration. Halstadt itself contains about 
600 Protestant inhabitants. Neither carriages nor horses 
are used there from the peculiar situation of the village, on 
the bank of the lake, by a steep mountain ; all the communi- 
cation, as at Cadenabbia, is by boats. 

Catherine and I agree that this wild scenery, glorious as it 
is, is not so loveable as our dear Leopold's Krone. There is 
a schloss belonging to the owner of the salt works. 

The next morning we rowed to the gasthaus, on the Ischl 
side of the lake of Halstadt. That is also finely situated. We 
drove back to Ischl, for there is no getting beyond Halstadt 
except by pedestrians, for the Germans call it the end of the 
world from Ischl. We immediately set out for the lake of 
Gemunden, along the most beautiful valley I have ever seen 
in my life, with the rapid river brawling through it; the 
deep dark woods, the mountains so varied so picturesque 
as if nature had delighted in chiselling them out into the 
strangest forms; that valley must live in my memory till I 
see it again. Pauline was all expectation of seeing a steam 
boat for the first time in her life ; one has been established by 


an Englishman on the lake of Gemunden, and most acceptable 
it is, for no road has yet been cut through the rocks, though 
they say one is projected. We arrived on the brink of the 
Gemunden about half an hour before the steam packet 
appeared in sight; I had time for a small sketch of the 
magnificent scenery. Pauline's longing eyes were gratified 
as the steam vessel appeared in view; she thought it delight- 
ful ; to me it was but a sorry substitute for our nice little 
boat on the Halstadt lake. On the Gemunden, we had the 
only hour's rain from which we suffered during the whole ex- 
cursion ; we were very glad to take shelter in the carriage, as 
the rain fell in torrents and shut out the view of the beautiful 
mountains which we rejoiced in having seen, during our 
delightful drive. We reached Gemunden, and expected to 
find all " couleur derose" at the Goldenen Schiffe, which the 

had described as a delightful inn, with good rooms and 

a fine situation ; the inn, notwithstanding its great preten- 
sions, is a bad one; bad attendance, bad cooking, most 
uncomfortable beds. I have taken it in aversion, and shall 
never go to it again ; but the situation is beautiful. 

The next day being Sunday we ought to have been quiet, 
but we were anxious to reach home the day after, and so we 
went to see the falls of the Traun. We were punished for 
our breach of the Sabbath, by a hot drive without any striking 
scenery, and all to end in disappointed expectation. The 
falls are contemptible the water being drawn off for a 
canal, the far-famed falls are inferior to most mill streams. 
May I never see them again ! We returned, angry with 

Captain G , for having induced us to drive twelve miles 

and back again to see nothing, to fatigue the horses, and 
suffer from heat ; we dined upon an indifferent dinner, and 
took our leave of Gemunden for ever. 

Travellers making this excursion should go through Ischl, 
see Halstadt, Wolfgang, Gemunden, including the glorious 


drives spoken of, they should travel post and not stop at 
Gemunden. We went on a stage to enable us to reach 
Leopold's Krone to-day, and we slept at a pretty little village 
the attendance good and the inn very clean and comfort- 
able. The drive home was nothing remarkable, the weather 

fine; we dined at the Post at N . Catherine hates 

crawling in these little hired carriages, with voituriers horses. 
We have made a long day's journey to-day, and rejoice at 
finding ourselves in our clean, happy, large and delightful 
Lepold's Krone. The drawing-room looked larger than ever, 
and now I am in my charming bed-room, thankful to Provi- 
dence for bringing us safe here again, and agreeing that it is 
pleasanter to live amongst beautiful scenery than to visit it. 

As we left we were pointed out a tower said to be 

coeval with the birth of our Saviour, 

" The following is the account of the wedding of a great 
friend, that took place a few days after the wedding of Lady 
Osborne's daughter, and was the third she attended within 
a fortnight: " 

Just returned from the wedding and a few leave-taking 
calls. I have but a few moments to say that all went off 
admirably. There was less weeping than at your marriage. 
I suppose we are all marrying so often, that we get used to 
it. There was a very pretty breakfast; the bride looked 
very handsome. The party consisted of about twenty peo- 
ple, eight of whom were B . Francis read the service 

extremely well. . . . Mr. T is really exceedingly 

agreeable ; he is a man who thinks ; whether he feels or not 
I do not know. Fanny did cry at the wedding. Kate 
looked very pale, but shed no tears ; the bridegroom radiant 
with happiness. 

The bride's health was the only toast drunk; and Mar- 


garet was on the point of wishing her many happy returns 
of the day, to which the bridegroom demurred. 

" So little had Lady Osborne been separated from her 
daughter until the marriage of the latter, that this letter is 
almost the first of the short ones addressed to her at various 
times, most of which are without dates, but all denote her 
utter unselfishness, solicitude for others, and care for the 
minutest details regarding their comforts, innocence and 
purity of taste, generosity and anxiety for the health of 
others, while making as light as possible of her own severe 
malady. The Editor may be mistaken, but she does not 
think a single scrap given too much to throw light upon the 
various decided traits of character she possessed. A mo- 
ther's tone of partiality for a child is left in, not because it 
was deserved, but with the same sort of gratitude with which 
the undeserved gifts of Providence may be acknowledged. 
Lady Osborne had an intense love of improving everything 
around her, and a passionate delight in gardening that would 
have fitted her for the enjoyment of Eden." 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I felt very sad after your de- 
parture yesterday. The first thing we did was to drive 
Admiral Proby to the hotel at Euston-square, where he went 
for the purpose of applying leeches to his side, as he was 
suffering from great pain. I think this makes his coming a 
greater kindness. 

We dined at Mrs. Bernal's, and after dinner Mr. Williams 
made a panegyric on Ralph, and then your united healths 
were drunk with cheers. In the evening, the Akers, Bruces, 
Strother, and Captain Dickenson came, and Lucy, though 
much out of spirits at parting with her brother, sang most 
beautifully, particularly that sweet song, " Weep not for 
the departed." I am very much obliged to Ralph for 


writing from Birmingham ; it was gratifying to me to hear 
that you felt so much on leaving me. I assure you I miss 
you most intensely ; the drawing-room looks miserable ; no- 
thing can equal its melancholy aspect. . . . I feel most 
anxious to hear from you, and I pray to God that you may 
be in good health and spirits; do, pray, write and tell me 
how you are, and how you like Chirk; but above all, tell me 
that you are well and happ} 7 ". . . . Again, pray send me 
a line every day ; remember I have never been separated from 
you but once before, and I want to hear that you are both 
well and happy. It was very nice Miss Biddulph having the 
pretty decoration of " Welcome" surrounded with flowers. 

11, Hereford-street, Park-lane. 

I am disappointed at not hearing from you to-day. My 
spirits are very low ; the gloomy aspect of the weather tends, 
perhaps, to promote this, but I think independently I feel 
very sad. I hope you will always try to look on the sunny 
side of everything. I am going out to-day to pay my leave- 
taking visits ; it will be pleasant to get out of this dismal 
room, now quite dismantled. After all this is a gloomy 
situation ; I wonder we could have chosen it. 

31st August, 1844. 

We have had a delightful day, in the full enjoyment of 
fine weather and beautiful scenery. 

Of all the counties in England which I have seen, Surrey 
is the most remarkable for fine scenery. The hills rise to 
the dignity of mountains, they are so high and beautifully 
wooded ; the roads are bordered by the finest trees, and the 
cottages are delightfully picturesque, and nothing can outdo 
the civility of the people, and they seem much more com- 
fortable than any peasantry I have seen anywhere, except in 
the Tyrol. 


I am writing from an hotel at the foot of Box Hill, with 
a lovely little garden at the back, from which you ascend 
the hill. You have often heard of Box Hill ; it resembles 
Tanybwlch; it seems to me miraculous that there should 
be such scenery near London without everyone talking of it. 
We slept last night atGuildford, and drove on through deeply- 
wooded lanes and over hills commanding magnificent views ; 
then through a wood, deserving to be called a forest from 
its great extent, and gradually changing into a steep descent, 
and offering a view singularly like the Esterel mountains. 
Our main object was a spot called Leith Hill, and as Howe 
did not know the way, we stopped to inquire from a coach- 
man, who was driving two ladies in an open carriage. A very 
nice-looking middle aged lady told us that we were on Leith 
Hill, but if we wished to go to the monument, we must ascend 
a very steep hill on foot. But we should, said she, see the 
view to great advantage from the terrace of the garden, and 
she begged we would put up the horses in her stables. No 
sooner had Howe heard this proposal, than he discovered that 
rest was perfectly indispensable to the horses, and he would 
go. The adventurous Margaret and Johnson ascended to 
the monument, Miss Smith and I went to Mrs. Smallfield's. 
It is a house in the form of an H, like a miniature Newtown ; 
in front of it a parterre glowing with the richest flowers, the 
scarlet verbena in full luxuriance, and the terrace termi- 
nating with a glorious view, and behind the lofty hills like 
the Esterel. It is a delightful place. There was a nice 
girls' school in the pretty lodge, and one of the children who 
showed us about, told us this school was often regaled with 
tea on the lawn. From Leith Hill we drove on through 
Dorking, and after having ascended some part of Box Hill 
through their pretty garden, we talked of putting up here 
for the night. Miss Smith was more disposed to go on to 
Leatherhead. When we arrived there we found only an 


uninviting public-house, so we took a pair of leaders and 
returned to Box Hill, and here we are established for the 

I am writing in a very pretty drawing-room, looking into 
a nice garden, bounded by finely wooded hills. 

I feel that I shall be sorry to leave it to pass Sunday in 
London. You see I have written you quite a tour; you 
ought to follow my example. Miss Smith insists on my 
going through the ceremony of sending her love ; pray give 
mine to Ralph, and believe me ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Pray let me hear that you are well and happy. To-mor- 
row (Saturday) we return to London ; on Tuesday we go to 

London, October 3rd. 

DEAREST CATHERINE, Think of my only receiving your 
letter about your illness this morning (Thursday). I set off 
an hour-and-a-half after reading it, by the first train. I 
shall leave London at five o'clock to go by Bristol, being the 
quickest way. You will see me an hour or two, or a few 
hours after receiving this. I pray God I may find you tole- 
rably well. God bless you. I will never again be so far 
away ; it was most unlucky the letter going to Tunbridge 
Wells you forgot I said we should leave on Saturday. I 
shall think every moment an age until I see you. God bless 

Your affectionate mother, 



Oaklands, January 4th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I see baby constantly at dif- 
ferent hours ; the little darling has been with me for a long 
time this morning and amusing herself by creeping about on 
the carpet, and looking the picture of health and beauty. 
Pownoll seemed delighted with her; his mother would not 
let him play with her, lest if she met with any accident or 
shadow of an accident, we should blame him months hence. 
I have nothing else to tell you about your treasure, except 
that she disturbed her nurse as early as ever to-day; as she 
cannot speak, I have no witty anecdotes, no " bon mots" of 
her's to recite ; we must wait another year before we estab- 
lish her character for a wit ; as for beauty, we must content 
ourselves with her, as being like a creation of Murillo, and 
wait for time to make her a Montague or a Sevigne. 

We had last night a long conversation about the times, and 
we agree that it is most important to commence every species 
of retrenchment without delay. When Mr. Osborne goes to 
London, don't let us have a single dinner party here ; let us 
try how little we can live upon do, pray, agree to this : if 
you can get a place for one of the footmen, I would certainly 
recommend its being done; and, if you go to London, I 
think, in the present position of Irish affairs, an Irish land- 
lord would only excite disgust by appearing to live at any 
expense the less appearance that is kept up the better ; any 
thing like luxury would give rise to censure, and justly. 

Your affectionate mother, 


Derryluskan, Thursday 27th, 1847. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Your letter has given me the 
greatest comfort. I had felt uneasy at not hearing from you ; 
this letter was brought to me from the Glebe. 1 am glad to 
hear you are likely to be settled soon, but if not, Mrs. 


Palliser mentions a very comfortable, quiet hotel, in Suffolk- 
street, Pall Mall, where they have several private houses, to 
which they send their guests when the hotel is full Usher's 
Hotel, Suffolk-street, remember, in case you want an hotel. 

I want to know that you are out of Albemarle-street. I 
think it a very disagreeable situation, and not very healthy 
for any body, particularly for baby. I don't care what sort 
of room I have; for I mean to add very seldom to your 
expenses. Don't think of me ; only think of yourself and 
baby. I paid for the house in Wilton-street six guineas 
a-week, but I had it for several months. Do tell me what 
situation your house is in. Pray be convinced that you are 
not to think about me when you take a house. 

I don't know why, I suppose it is from vanity, but I am 
rather sorry baby will not be seen by Lady Blessington. 
Mrs. Palliser is better than I expected. Grace says she has 
been decidedly better since my visit. If the weather be 
decent I set out on Thursday. God bless you and precious 


Dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Mrs. Palliser sends her best love, and is glad to hear good 
accounts of you and baby. I am sorry to think of you with- 
out a carriage. 

Fethard Glebe, April 27th, 1847. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Have you got the same cold, 
wintry weather in London that we have here; the spring 
makes scarcely any advances and the wind howls and whistles 
all around as if it were January. 

I think you are not so badly off now for being in London ; 
if I could only be sure that you and my precious Edith do 
not suffer from being in Albemarle-street, sleeping on the 


ground floor. Did you ever look at the lodgings which the 
Baines' once occupied ? Above all things choose a healthy 
situation. The weather was so bad I gave up my plan of 
taking Grace to Newtown to-day, and we have settled to 
drive there some day in their britzka. You know I am 
going to Derryluskan to-morrow to pass some days. I again 
repeat that my going to London has nothing to do with your 
taking a house ; because I have the Wardes to visit and the 
Baines ; so I have fixed upon leaving on Thursday w eek, the 
6th of May, from having the inducement of the Woodward's 
company as far as Dublin. I shall go (D.V.) by the morning 
packet to Birkenhead, and I hope I shall find you and my 
beloved grandchild quite well. Be sure and tell me what 
every one says of her. 

Mr. Woodward's pamphlet contains the views I have 
always known him to possess. The evangelical world did 
not choose to understand him, and he has now published 
them ; they are too liberal to be appreciated by the narrow- 
minded. In case of my sleeping a night in town, pray 
try and find out a bed for me. Believe me, my dearest 


Your affectionate mother, 


I believe your estate, after a time, will be better than ever, 
provided you get an Agriculturist; that I believe to be in- 

" The pamphlet alluded to in the foregoing letters is a 
' Chapter of Autobiography,' which will be found in his col- 
lected works of ' Essays and Sermons.' " 

Monday, April 13th, Newtown Anner. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Here am I in my little sitting- 
room by a comfortable fire. I have only just allowed the 
shutters to be closed, it was so painful to me to shut out the 


garden and its beauties; it is now looking very gay; the 
tulips and hyacinths are in full blow, a bed of a new and 
beautiful kind of wall-flower, narcissus, polyanthus, auriculas, 
&c. I quite long for morning to see it again. I lament 
over the idea of leaving it so soon to go to Carigbarahane ; 
some of the shrubs, where the terrace garden is to be, have 
been moved, in preparation, and they are planted on each 
side of the broad walk from the steps of the terrace leading 
to the greenhouse ; they look much better where they are 
than in the old spot, indeed they have a beautiful effect. 

It has been raining for several days past a soft, drizzling 
kind of rain, which has advanced the spring, and the leaves 
are now appearing. I stood out in the rain till called in to 
my beefsteak ; it was really a great grief to me to come in. 
I am not sorry you made the trial of going without a carriage 
and maid for once, but I trust you will never attempt it 
again. You are not fitted for such a scrambling, wretched 
journey, and it is not necessary for you to make such shifts. 
I hope you and nurse will sometimes mention my name to 
baby, and then perhaps she may remember me when I have 
the happiness of seeing her again. Be sure to tell me what 
people think of her, and what progress she makes in walking ; 
everything which can be supposed interesting to the most 
doating of grandmothers be sure to tell me, darling pet. I 
hope to see her as well as ever, and if she looks one shade 
less rosy, I shall fly away with her to St. Leonards. Pray 
write very often, every day if you can. 

Hackett seems very glad that she was missed never go 
anywhere without a maid and a carriage. Ever, dearest 

Your affectionate mother, 



If you remain in London I hope it will be in a very airy 
situation. A carriage you must have. 

Your affectionate mother, 


Sarah sends her love, and thanks for the picture. 

Yalding Vicarage. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, At last we accomplished our 
excursion to Rochester, and enjoyed it extremely. I shall 
be quite anxious to take you there. We heard service in 
the cathedral, which is really a very handsome building, and 
has been just beautifully restored. My attention had been 
directed by one of Mrs. Rennie's books to the very exquisite 
doorway at the entrance. It is so free from incumbrances 
and obstructions that it looks much larger than some cathe- 
drals which occupy a much greater space ; it contains scarcely 
any monuments, and those not in the way. I am sure it 
would please you extremely, and it stands so well within view 
of the old castle ; but I do hope to show it to you. We were 
also much struck by the beautiful situation of St. Margaret's 
Church, where I was married ; the daughters of the clergy- 
man were playing the organ, and so we went in and stood 
for a minute or two before the communion table. There 
was a man cutting grass in the churchyard, probably the 
sexton, and he showed us my father's grave the simple in- 
scription remaining 

" Major of the Royal Marines, 
" 2nd July, 1813. Aged 59." 

It was altogether a most interesting visit to me. I forgot 
to mention that what I used to consider a very beautiful 
picture over the altar in the cathedral has been many years 


removed by an old archdeacon, to whom his clergy presented 
a testimonial for his kindness, in living sixty years after he 
became archdeacon; he carried off the picture to Chatham 
Church, the sacrilegious old fellow ! 

There stands the house where he used to live by the 
vines a pretty meadow not far from the cathedral and 
there were a number of boys at play, as they used to be in 
the times forty years ago, probably the grandfathers of the 
present race. We were struck by the beautiful and peculiar 
view from the handsome bridge, which we walked leisurely 
over; the castle standing proudly on a hill, with its old 
broken wall, embracing a wide space, and covered with ivy, 
topped by flowering shrubs, and the cathedral appearing 
somewhat further removed and not so prominent as the 
castle ; then the broad salt river at the base of the hill, on 
the opposite shore the woods of Cobham, and various vil- 
lages, churches, Trimsburg, &c.; it is really very pretty. 
We went also to look at the house which we occupied for 
many years before we had the house in the barracks. It 
stands in a small, quiet street, and was then quite occupied 
by military people. It belonged to my father, and my 
mother sold it after his death; but I suppose you have had 
enough of my reminiscences. We drove from Maidstone to 
Rochester and back again in a little carriage, like that which 
1 sold to the Rialls, and found it so pleasant that I regretted 
I had not kept mine. It is a beautiful drive the whole way, 
particularly Bluebell Hill, something like Gedge's ; but with 
the river winding through the valley. The railroad to Maid- 
stone goes through Lord Gainsborough's park, and he got 
30,000 compensation. 

I do hope we may get at Killaloan. I am delighted 

that Mr. Osborne is so zealous in the cause. I think it quite 

natural that Mr. O. should wish to continue for Wycombe, 

but I would rather see him an Irish member, and there is 

VOL. I. Q 


such a lack of Irish members. I send you Grace Palliser's 
letter. John is quite a hero, he was always a brave fellow. 

Pray tell Mr. Osborne that I was quite right in what I 
told him of the living of Yalding having been in the Warde 
family since the days of Queen Elizabeth. In the tenth 
year of that queen, as I read in the History of Kent, she pre- 
sented the Warde of the day with the tithes of the parish, 
and they have presented ever since to the living; they did 
not for a long time present to themselves, but to others: as, 
for instance, to one Beston, to whom belonged the old house 
near the Vicarage. The Warde who presented the living to 
Beston was the Ambrose or Richard Warde, I forget which, 
whose figure in armour, but without a helmet, is at the head 
of the kneeling figures in the chancel. I never observed till 
the other day that he is in light chain armour. This very 
handsome monument is referred to in the History of Kent. 
A great part of the lay tithes have been alienated to the 
distant branches of the family. The Parliament did not dis- 
turb in their possessions those who did not oppose them in 
the civil wars. I cannot help mentioning this to prove that 
my statement was correct about the living of Yalding. 

Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 

Kiss dear precious baby. 

" It is a strange thing that a people so emotionally poetic 
as the Irish should be so unaesthetic and so ill-disposed to 
enlightened comfort, even to the extent their want of means 
will allow. Not being disposed to exert their reasoning 
powers, and being strongly addicted to imitation of those 
possessing influence over them and inclined to follow the 
multitude, who have sympathy and traditional resentment ; 


thus they are kept enchained to that spiritual despotism that 
claims power over body and soul ; but as yet no remedy has 
been found for these evils. The best would be time and 
quiet leading on to prosperity. As Mr. Disraeli and Mr. 
Lowe have remarked, geographical and physical causes also 
keep back Ireland." 

Yaldirig Parsonage, May 22nd. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, This will be my last note for 
the present, as I hope to go up on Monday ; but I do not like 
the idea of your sending away your carriage for me ; it will 
prevent you from taking a drive. If you find any reason 
for thinking it inconvenient don't mind sending it at all; for 
I can very easily take a cab. I am delighted to hear that 
precious baby makes herself so popular. I shall like to see 
how she carries on her communications. Don't you think 
her sojourn at Yalding has done her good.? Will it not be 
well to repeat the experiment. 

As you won't allow me to take lodgings, you must let me 
occasionally refresh her by giving her a day and night's airing 
in the country, at Boxhill or Hampton Court. Some people 
have different phases of existence, in which a change takes 
place in their mental constitution. Now, at present, there is 
a fever over me for moving about in the country, and it does 
seem to me that darling baby will benefit by frequently 
breathing the country air. Your parcel has not yet arrived. 
I walked down to the railroad to see if it had come, but "No, 
lady," was the answer, " nothing is come." Where the fault 
lies, whether in the transit to the city or not, I cannot say ; 
here it is not. 

Yesterday I was in the cottage of an old woman of seventy- 
seven ; she has no child or servant, and does all the work of 
her little house herself, which was most exquisitely clean, the 
table like snow, and the nicely-sanded brick floor; she does 


all her own washing, and she is a picture of cleanliness; 
think what such an establishment would have been in Ire- 
land a dirty old woman smelling of tobacco, a disgusting 
drab of a servant girl with dishevelled hair, a dirty face, and 
ragged dress. Poor, poor Ireland ! Oh, these unhappy 
Celts ! Michelet, in his "History of France," describes them 
as not being capable of good order and incapable of framing 
a good government. 

There is nothing in Ireland or in the Highlands of Scot- 
land to disprove that notion. There are so few incidents in 
a Yalding life that it is strange to forget one. You know 
we dined at the Vicarage on Wednesday, and notwithstanding 
Richard's offer of the carriage, I chose to walk home, to re- 
mind me of days long gone by ; the nightingales were singing 
delightfully, and the walk was very pleasant ; it seemed to 
say that a descent in life might be bearable that one might 
learn to do without a carriage ; it would be of course harder 
for you than for me ; you w r ould have to learn a new lesson, 
I, but to revive an old one. The parcel has just arrived; 
Sarah thinks Mr. Osborne's profile very like. 

Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Gedges, 1847. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am anxious to hear whether 
you got home without, accident with your stupid coachman, 
and whether darling baby was awakened by her transfer 
from my arms to yours. I sincerely hope she slept peace- 
ably until you reached Eccleston-street. I travelled alone in 
my glory. The Kentish people contenting themselves gene- 
rally with second class carriages. On account of my luggage 
and the unpleasantness of walking so far alone at nine 
o'clock, I took a fly, which cost me four shillings, half the 


expense of the railroad. This beautiful view loses much by 
the cold gloom of the weather. 

I should like to go and sit by the kitchen fire. I wish you 
would consult Dr. Arnott and see if he can devise something 
for your pale face and want of sleep. I cannot help feeling 
very uneasy about you ; and then see if he thinks mesmerism 
might not be of use to you. Pray tell me how poor Miss 
Smith is ; if there be any material change I will hasten to 
see her. 

Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


York, July 28. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, We have just made a good 
meal at tea, after returning from viewing the glorious 
Minster; it is much larger than Westminster Abbey, and 
it has more painted glass, old painted glass, than I have 
ever seen in any cathedral ; the windows are most beautiful 
and very large and high. The chapter is a circular building 
of exquisite proportions ; but a description would only tire 
you, suffice it to say you would have been delighted, it is so 
light, graceful, and purely Gothic. I have, on our old plan, 
bought a print of it. The road we travelled was all very 
pretty, a great improvement on the high road, which is flat 
and ugly. The scenery about Nottingham, for some miles, 
is very beautiful. Sarah and I had the carriage all to our- 
selves; her spirits seem to be improving. We travelled 
through part of Derbyshire, with high wooded hills and a 
lovely river. I wish very much for you and darling baby. 
I should not have made up my mind to leave her had I not 
thought that you would be leaving London at this time, and 
carrying her with you. Pray let me hear the very oftenest 
possible, and take care of yourself, dearest Catherine, and 


grow fat. Don't forget to canvass Dr. Arnott; make him 
give vote and influence. 

I am sleepy and going to bed. I wrote on this scrap, 
having left my paper case behind. I told Reddy to send it, 
&c., &c. . . . 

29, Stafford-street, Edinburgh. 

MY DEAR CATHERINE, I am seated in a most comfortable 
lodging engaged for me by Mrs. Walker ; this is a wide street 
and handsome, as I conclude most of the streets in the new 
town are ; it is as quiet as a country place, for there is not a 
single shop in it nor in the streets which I can see adjoining; 
and, as everybody is out of town, there is not a stir to be 
heard, though at this moment, as I write, a cry which I don't 
understand, and the wheels of a cart move slowly down the 
street, the houses being all of grey cut stone, but much more 
substantial than London houses. Even coming in by the 
railroad I perceived the oft-spoken of picturesque appearance 
of the old town with the enormous height of the houses ; but 
as I have seen nothing I will not attempt to describe. The 
railroad from York is not complete by two bridges, so that 
we were tossed into omnibuses at Newcastle and again at 
Berwick, to proceed by different trains. We were all tossed 
pell mell, first, second, and third classes together, as if we 
had been shaken out of a bag laid by without sorting, and 
then we had to wait at each railroad for half-an-hour at 
one and an hour at the other for the trains. I had not even 
an opportunity of getting an eatable biscuit. Sarah bought 
some bread at York which I would not touch. I ate nothing 
from seven in the morning until nine at night, when we 
arrived at Mrs. Walker's. Her reception was most kind, 
cordial, and hospitable. Her house is very nicely furnished 
and in good taste. Madeline is plumper than when you saw 


her, consequently prettier, with a sweet expression of coun- 
tenance ; neither of the daughters is as young and lively as 
her mother, who abounds in Scotch humour, she is very 
agreeable. I met with a lady on the railroad who went only 
as far as Durham, a very amusing person, and, for her time of 
life, very handsome. She is the wife of Sir Maxwell Wallace, 
she told me her whole history : her first husband was Sir A. 
Donne, her only daughter is an angel of beauty and goodness ; 
she was married to Mr. Milbank, who has a large fortune at 
present, and, though not an elder son, is to be the Duke of 
Cleveland . . . She is going to Scotland very soon, and 
hopes to meet me there, she said on parting. Augusta has 
been thrown into a great state of excitement, by meeting the 
son of her old mistress, Count Oriole ; he is travelling with 
the Prussian Prince, nephew of the king. She brought him 
up to me during our long waiting for the train; he entered 
into conversation and talked of India and the people; he 
speaks English beautifully ; he seems to have thought much 
and sensibly of politics and free trade; he is remarkably 
handsome and agreeable, with a delightful expression of 
countenance, and with all the courtesy of a well-bred 
foreigner of the highest order; he asked Augusta for my 
address in Edinburgh, unluckily she did not know it. Lady 
Wallace says she met Mr. Osborne, many years ago, at the 
Bal fours, but she did not know much of him. 

Though invited to take all my meals at Mrs. Walker's, I 
shall prefer breakfasting in my lodgings, that I may write 
my letters in quiet comfort. I long for some news of you 
and dearest baby and of the election. I hope you have can- 
vassed Dr. Arnott and the Chief Baron. 

Believe me, my dearest Catherine, 
Your affectionate mother, 



If Mr. Osborne fails for Middlesex, I hope he will try 
Tipperary; if the gentlemen, in bringing him in, required 
no renunciation of liberal opinions, they would be glad of a 
gentleman and a man of talent in preference to a blockhead ; 
and besides I think it would be serving the cause of liberalism 
to take it out of the hands of priests : this is truth even . 
still I think nothing so manifest as that the priests bring 
Irish liberalism into contempt. Pray pay my little debts at 
. . . I think we might give soup to the labourers for a 
few -weeks longer. I am going to send an order, and when 
that is done, if you give the same it will bring them on to 
the harvest. 

I have a drawing-room with three windows and two bed- 
rooms, the attendance of the women of the house for 2 

Do you remember Augusta's telling us that the Graf von 
Oriola was removed from Berlin. . . . he is singularly 
handsome and very intelligent. The Countess, his mother, 
is not dead ; it was a mistake ; it was the Count who died. 

August 3rd. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I have scarcely time to write a 
line as we go out very early, have to make a detour, and 
reach Pinkie by one o'clock. I am grieved to hear of your 
headache, my own dearest; it makes my heart ache. I feel 
uneasy lest there be something which ought to be looked 
after; pray see Dr. Arnott and make him ascertain, pre- 
vention is easier than cure. We went yesterday to a very 
pretty place, Dalmeny Park, Lord Rosebery's, I think ; the 
view of the sea is very fine, and we had a beautiful view of 
Edinburgh the whole way, its position is so commanding. 
Captain Walker, whom I have not seen for thirty years, 
came back yesterday from Fifeshire and dined at Mrs. 
Walker's; he is like all connected with us, an odditv; but 


a most lively and entertaining one ; he is full of humour, and 
has a peculiar vocabulary of his own; he calls bonnets, 
machines; ladies, amiables; men, sometimes reptiles, some- 
times geniuses ; he is fall of old world stories : he says ray 
father was a great likeness of his uncle, Bishop-Strachan, the 
last of the non-jurors who refused to acknowledge the House 
of Hanover. My grandmother's family, who forfeited this 
estate for going out (as he expressed it) in the year '15, as 
" all good men did." He is a strong Jacobite, and would 
deem it a personal offence if you were to call Prince Charles 
the Pretender. They have some of his hair, and some of 
Mary Queen of Scots. I am going, please God, to Margaret 
Clarke's on Thursday ; she is in such a hurry for me to go 
before they return to the Grampians. 

Believe me, my dearest Catherine, 
Your affectionate mother, 


I hope you found darling baby well. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE I send you the view which 
delights your eye as you walk down Princes-street, a mile 
long ; you have Princes-street and its fine shops on the left, 
and on the right the view at the top of this page, but far more 
beautiful ; I never have seen a city so gloriously beautiful. 
I had so much to do this last day in Edinburgh, that I had 
no time to write, for before I set out to Roslin, I had to drive 
to the Calton Hill. The next letter I write I shall have the 
Calton Hill upon it ; the view from it is most exquisite, with 
the city and its hill, and its monuments and the sea, the Frith 
of Forth. How I wish you could see it ! No pen can do justice 
to it. Pinkie House is very, very old, in parts ; but it was 
(word illegible) in 1605 ; the gallery is a fine room between 


ninety and one hundred feet long ; it is not castellated. The 
battle of Pinkie was fought very near it. Lady Hope and 
her daughter showed us the room where Prince Charles slept, 
and where you may suppose the scene with the Baron of 
Bradwardine drawing off his boots to have occurred ; there are 
many tales connected with this old house such as the bodies 
of the dead and wounded being brought there from the 
battle, and James the Fourth having used it as a hunting 
lodge. Lady Hope was very kind and civil ; she said that 
Sir John Hope had been quite delighted at the idea of seeing 
me, as the daughter of his old friend ; I told her how often 
my father used to speak of them. Sir John is at rest about 
his election for this county. I must remember to tell you that 
I have found out a relationship to Sir R. Strachan, husband of 
Lady Strachan. Bishop Strachan the last of the nonjuring 
bishops, never assumed the title which belonged to him, but 
suffered it to be borne by Sir Richard, who was the next 
heir. The property had been forfeited in the cause of the 
Stewarts ; he would never pray for the House of Hanover- 
On leaving Pinkie we proceeded to two lovely places, friends 
and relations of Mr. Walker's branch of the Hayes'. I have 
much that is interesting to write about, but it is long past 
twelve, and we must be up very early to-morrow to go by 
the coach ; I shall have leasure to write from Princeland. 
For my sake, dearest dearest Catherine, see Dr. Arnott. God 
bless you, my love, and believe me, 

Your most affectionate mother, 


I see by the papers that the election of Mr. Osborne is 
delayed. I wish I had taken baby to the sea side. It has 
struck one. 


24, Stafford-street. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. This is the third time I have 
written to you since we parted, and not a line have I 

I have been driven about all day, and have seen the castle, 
which reminds me exceedingly of that of Saltzburgh ; even 
the view from it is not unlike in short, Edinburgh is a 
glorious city ; it is more like Prague and Saltzburgh than 
any other I know. I think, upon the whole, it most resembles 
Prague. The view all along Princes-street is very fine, in 
some parts beautiful public buildings, and in others the 
picturesque old town. 

I have seen the regalia which Sir Walter Scott was the 
cause of finding. It had been built up with mason work in 
the old room in the castle, and he got it opened, and all the 
people assembled in Princes-street, and a cannon was fired. 
I saw Holyrood House, and two or three pictures by Vandyke, 
and the room where Rizzio was stabbed, and Queen Mary's 
bed, and was delighted with the magnificent view from the 
rock ; but I will write to-morrow, for I have been out all day 
long, and I must now prepare for dinner. 

How goes on the election? and how is angel Edith? I 
leave Edinburgh (D.V.) on Thursday. 

Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


August 6th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I have been writing many letters 
which I could not help. I am now going out, but I send you 
a line to say that I am happy to find Margaret most comfort- 
ably established a nice house and a pretty place a good- 
natured, kind-hearted, well-mannered husband. The Walkers 
are Episcopalians in a sense which we can scarcely unckr?iand, 


from its having been the persecuted religion ; they feel acutely 
on the subject. I was very sorry to leave Edinburgh, 
beautiful as it is, and I found the Walkers most kind and 
agreeable. Madeline is looking very handsome, from being 
fatter than when you saw her. I think you would be 
delighted with the Captain; he is so kind-hearted and 
generous, and so odd and amusing. The country is very 
pretty between Edinburgh and Coupar Angus. I went by 
the mail from Edinburgh to Perth, and had to cross the 
Frith a ferry of six miles. Scotland is full of lads flying 
to their shooting quarters. There was a terrible smell of 
smoking from the top of the coach. There was a gentleman 
inside who was in a great state of excitement from the 
anticipated delight of shooting. This is not a large house, but 
the drawing and dining-rooms are very good. We are going 
early next week to the cottage in the Highlands, the idea of 
which pleases me very much. Margaret is much changed, 
but looks better than I expected, and seems in very good 
spirits. I have not yet been out of the house ; I arrived in 
a terrible shower of rain, like a waterspout. The country is 
very pretty between this and Perth. I shall see as much as 
I can whilst in Scotland ; we passed on the road Loch Leven 
Castle, where Mary Queen of Scots escaped with Douglas ; 
the keys which he threw away were found in the Loch a few 
years ago, and are now deposited I forget where.* I must 
now be getting ready to go out very soon. I have steadily 
refused taking luncheon, as we dine at five o'clock. 

Mr. Clarke is a very cheerful, good-looking man ; he pro- 
mises himself much pleasure from the enjoyment he means 
me to have in the Highlands black cock and all. The Free 
Church business is the most absurd thing I ever heard of. 
The Miss gave all their money to it, sold their watches 

* Lord Strathnairn told the editor the keys were in the possession of his 
brother-in-law, the Earl of Morton. 


and chains and dressed quite shabbily to give every penny to 
the church. It is pleasant to see Margaret so comfortably 
situated in a very nice house, with excellent rooms and every 
possible comfort about her, and the knowledge that her 
husband lays by money every year. They are very little 
here in the summer they prefer their Highland cottage so 
much. I hope you will understand the view on the head of 
this paper; it is from Princes-street, which has only houses on 
one side, and the lithograph I send you represents what you 
see on your right hand, as you walk down. How you would 
delight in Captain Walker. I wish you had known him. I 
think he surpasses any of Scott's descriptions. He left the 
army in consequence of a severe wound he received in the 
battle of Salamanca, for which he has a handsome pension, 
but which unfitted him for further service ; he is, without 
exception, the most amusing original I have ever met with. 
Jane told me of him before, but I could scarcely believe it ; 
he used to be so shy ; his vocabulary is very droll. He is 
the most kind and generous man in the world so liberal to 
his nieces. I like Mrs. Walker exceedingly. 
Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Pray see Dr. Arnott. Kiss baby. 

August 7th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I never told you what a beau- 
tiful building I found Roslyn Chapel, and in what a high 
state of preservation; it had been greatly damaged by a 
Presbyterian mob, after the accession of William III. ; but 
Lord Roslyn has done enough to it lately to keep it from 
falling, and it well deserves the pains; it is an exquisite 
piece of Gothic architecture, with an interior full of arches, 


and designs of beautiful tracery and every kind of grotesque 
work, and pillars varying in form, but all beautiful; it is 
roofed in, and has glass windows ; so that with a new east 
window it would be perfectly fit for Divine service. The 
east window at present is built up; the others, as I have said 
before, are glazed with Gothic frames; they had been of 
stained glass and were destroyed on the accession of William. 
No wonder that Scott, with his genius, wrote well upon the 
past. There is in the present house a perfect type of all the 
species he describes : the Covenanters are represented by the 
Free Church party; the moderate Presbyterians by those of 
the National Church who have not seceded ; and the Episco- 
palians are just what they were in the time of Charles II., 
James VI., and William; the same devoted attachment to 
the memory of the Stuarts that the others avowed during 
their existence. I saw much of an old Miss Stuart, daughter 
of a highland chieftainess, who died from home, and the 
whole clan came over the hill, perhaps a hundred miles, to 
carry her to her Highland grave ; her remains must be borne 
by no animal inferior to a man, no hearse should be allowed 
to convey the lady to her last home. Well, this Miss Stuart, 
with the snow-white locks, but spirits young and fresh, had 
her whole soul absorbed in the interests of the Church of 
Scotland Episcopal, I mean and she and Captain Walker 
used to sit together and talk about it, and Madeline listening 
to the all-engrossing subject. Captain Walker asserts that, 
if it had not been for that abominable Dutchman, William 
III., episcopacy would have been to this day the established 
religion of Scotland; for, that not one-tenth of the people 
were Presbyterians up to his day. Captain Walker has the 
deepest reverence for the name of Ramsay; he says the 
sainted reptile Wilberforce made use of all my grandfather's 
information and never acknowledged the obligation, and 
took all the credit, which he did not deserve. 


To return to the place from which I wandered, Roslyn, I 
mean, do you remember Scott's pretty poem of Rosabelle, 
who was drowned in crossing the Firth on a stormy night? 
There is a tradition that the chapel of Roslyn was lighted 
supernaturally at the death of any of the family ; pray read 
the poem, in the " Lay of the Last Minstrel :" 

" 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 
But that my sire the wine will chide, 
If 'tis not fill'd by Eosabelle. 

There are twenty of Koslin's barons bold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 
Each one the holy vault doth hold 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle." 

Not far from Roslyn is the old castle of Hawthornden, 
most romantically situated upon a rock ; it is surrounded by 
the most picturesque and beautiful scenery. We went to 
look at the caves where Robert Bruce hid from Edward I., 
and where it was the custom for women and children to hide 
in the times of trouble; they certainly have been inhabited, 
from the artificial places cut in the rock for the purpose of 
stowage. There is an interesting tradition of the way the 

lands came into the Roslyn . A Baron de Roslyn, in the 

time of Robert Bruce, perilled his head against these lands 
that a dog of his should kill a deer which had baffled all the 
king's hounds; the dog succeeded and won the lands for his 
master ; but St. Clair de Roslyn would never be tempted to 
make so foolish a bet again, and he killed the hound with 
his foot, and there is his outline distinctly carved on a flat 
tomb in the chapel, with his arms crossed and his foot upon 
the dog, a monument of the ingratitude of man. We came 
here by the mail to Perth; shortly after leaving Edinburgh 
we had to cross the Forth in a steam packet ; the ferry where 


we crossed is six miles broad. Augusta was very active 
searching after the luggage, particularly in preventing the 
thin box from being crushed ; it was a great amusement to 
one of our fellow passengers. This is a very substantial 
house, with very thick walls, built of hammered red stone, 
something of a brick colour, but a more blueish red. The 
drawing and dining-rooms are each twenty-eight feet long 
by twenty wide. The live in great comfort, every- 
thing good at table ; but without any attempt at appearance. 
I am sorry to say that Margaret is a dreadful sufferer from 
rheumatism, and I am sorry to say that she has lost all her 
beauty ; but still she does not look so ill as 1 feared to find. 
The weather is very cold and rainy; but we are to pro- 
ceed to the Highlands next week ; but pray direct to me here 
until you hear to the contrary. You may imagine all the 
interest I feel about the election. As far as I may judge by 
the papers, it seems to be going on well. It will be a great 
triumph if you succeed. Have you canvassed Dr. Arnott 

and Mr. Hellyer. I wish you would see Dr. Arnott on 

your thinness, depression of spirits, &c. If I could be sure 
that you and darling baby were well, I should amuse myself 
much in these new scenes. When my labour at Newtown is 
over I shall economize, for the purpose of taking a cottage 
about Glengariff, for a time, or Lismore, to receive the 
Walkers ; they are delightful people, and I have received so 
much kindness and attention from them that I cannot be 
easy without making a return in kind. It is their principle 
always to make the evening sociable and agreeable ; nothing 
can be gayer or brighter than their tea-table, lighted by 
brilliant gas, which has no smell, as it has in London, partly 
from the coal being better suited to the purpose and partly 
from being well managed. The cloth is always laid for tea, 
and the table covered with various kinds of bread and cakes. 
I breakfasted at my lodgings, but Mrs. Walker used to send 


me out cakes and herrings and marmalade. Madeline grows 
conversable on a farther acquaintance and there is something 
very lovable in her amiable and her serious enthusiasm in 
objects in which no selfish principles can mingle. Sarah 
always regretted having left the baby alone at Yalding, and 
I often regret that I had not taken the treasure to the sea- 
side. Mr. is on bad terms with his children on account 

of that ridiculous Free Church. He had purchased a free- 
hold for that son of his, who is married to Mr. 's sister, 

and the first use he made of the present was to vote contrary 
to his father's wishes for a Whig member, who promised to 

support his Free Church, and the Miss used to go 

about making proselytes among the poor, selling their watches 
which their father had given them, and which deeply hurt 
him, to raise money for the Free Church, and they made the 

believe that had set Mr. against his 

son, whereas he was always trying to reconcile them, and has 
at length prevailed on him to ask them to dine to-day to 
meet me; so I shall see them. We called at the Manse 
yesterday; the minister's wife is a nice lady-like sensible 
woman. There are six different places of worship in the 
wee town of Coupar Angus ; they are now building a very 
pretty Episcopal Church. By-the bye, I forgot to mention 
that I heard from Captain Walker and Miss Stuart that some 
of the bishops want to make our Mr. Ewing a bishop ; others 
oppose ; perhaps I told you this before, but I forget. Mr. 

is a good-natured sensible man, very quiet in his 

manners ; he is well-connected ; I think has been 

fortunate. Give a kiss for me to darling baby, and my best 
wishes to Mr. Osborne for his election. 

Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother. 


VOL. I. R 


My plan of taking a cottage is only for a few weeks. The 
drawing-rooms of all the houses in Scotland I have seen are 
upstairs Pinkie, Knapton Grange, &c. I am just going to 
partake of a fine dish of strawberries, the 7th of August. 
Mr. Walker, at my request, treated us one day to a haggis. 
I think it an excellent dish. I have some curiosity to see 
the house which belonged to my grandfather in Montrose. 
Margaret has often seen it ; it is a large house looking upon 
the bay ; it is now let in parts to poor people. Nothing now 
belongs to our family but a burying-ground, which it was 
their whim to have apart from others; they have always 
been Episcopalians. Margaret has her and my grandmother's 
Prayer Book. 

Edinburgh, August 31. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE I send you a print of the 
delicious scenery of Loch Katrine, which, with its lovely 
bays, inlets, and isles, reminds me of parts of Killarney, 
though not nearly so extensive. The weather, with the ex- 
ception of one or two slight showers, was delightful ; the inns 
on the whole good, though not equal to the Welsh, except 
at Dunkeld and Stirling, which last is perfect. 

The views from and around Stirling Castle are magnificent. 
You stand upon a steep precipice and you have a fine view, 
well watered by a winding river, well wooded country below, 
bounded by hills and mountains of varied heights, from Abbey 
Crag to Benledi. I almost lived upon the Castle from Satur- 
day until one o'clock on Monday, and I looked over the fields 
of Bannockburn and the height where Bruce stationedhis army 
of 30,000, victorious over 100,000 English, and the water 
still rippling over the foundations of the identical bridge of 
Stirling, where Wallace so nobly fought and conquered. 
Stirling is so strong a post that its neighbourhood was the 


scene of many battles, all of which there was a soldier to 
point out. I was recognized by Major Galloway who took 
us into his wife's rooms ; she, as happy as ever, and with 
reason enraptured with the place ; her horse, Grace Darling, 
still flourishing. I met in the English Church, Stirling, Mr. 
Percy Gough ; we shook hands, but I could not remember 
his name at the time, though I knew his face quite well. 
Altogether Sunday was a happy day ; the church is beautiful 
unlike the Presbyterian kirks exquisite in its arrange- 
ments, with a beautiful front, and so neat and clean. There 
was one of the finest preachers I have ever heard ; his sermon 
as eloquent as it was pious. We dined early and spent the 
rest of the day on the Castle hill. Each day my love of 
scenery increases. I wish you could see Loch Katrine, with 
Ellen's isle; we had the Lady of the Lake as our companion, 
and the boatmen repeated with appropriate emphasis the 
descriptive lines, and pointing to 

" High on the south huge Benvenue 
Down to the lake in masses threw, 
Crags, knolls, and mounds confusedly hurled, 
The fragments of an earlier world, &c." 

I wished the mound had been like this, but still there was 
little to regret. We came by steam on the Forth from 
Stirling to Edinburgh, and we passed along beautiful scenery. 
Hopetoun House is a princely palace ; I must see it before 
I leave this it is about nine miles from Edinburgh. I forgot 
to mention that the Duke of Athol's (Blair Athole) is exactly 
like Mr. Clibborne's mill ; I took it for a mill, and was never 
so astonished as when I heard it was the ducal residence. It 
is a pity he cannot finish the house at Dunkeld. Mr. Walker 
has selected, by a commission from Margaret, a most beautiful 
tartan satin for Edith ; it is exquisite. Poor Margaret was 
sadly disappointed at not going with me; she says she hopes 



you will allow Edith to wear her tartan. Believe me, 

dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


I am glad you enjoyed Wycombe; I hope you are still 
at Chirk with the Biddulphs and at their mountain lodge. 


MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I send you a portrait of a ruin 
near Edinburgh* which we went to one day with the Walkers. 
It is far from being in the state of preservation with Glamis, 
which is not only habitable, but actually inhabited. This 
Dalnagla is a delightful place, the scenery about it quite 
exquisite ; twenty years ago it was a wild moor amongst wild 

mountains. Mr. C- bought one thousand acres, planted 

and improved and built a very nice cottage with plenty of 
rooms, to which he lately added a very nice drawing-room, 
and has made a great many beautiful walks which lead con- 
stantly to delightful views varying continually in character. 
I cannot tell you how delighted I am at Mr. Osborne's 
success. I had a letter to-day from Sarah, who heard 
through Jane that darling baby was looking fat and rosy, 
so altogether I feel happier in mind than I often do; 
you can imagine nothing more secluded than this place, yet 
it is not dull which Princeland is, for there are haymakers 
tossing about the grass to show how much later the climate 
is. We have strawberries, and raspberries, and cabbage- 
roses, and roses unique, and the gooseberries are not ripe ; it 
is a charm here that there are no beggars to be seen. We 
went yesterday to a wild Strath at the Spittals of Glenchree, 
the clergyman, a pious but vehement preacher, still without 
affectation ; but the church was very dirty, which seems the 
character of Scotch Presbyterians to have their churches 
* Craigmillar Castle. 


dirty, whilst the Episcopalian chapels are exquisitely nice. 
Did I tell you of a visit I paid the Nairns? and of his holding 
forth about the Free Church, and of the pretty Miss Nairns, 
their nice house with Dunsinane rising behind I believe I 
did. I am writing to Miss Smith to learn something of her. 
I know not where to address you. I will try Newtown where 
you will be some day, please God. 

Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


In great haste a chance messenger to the post. 


MY DEAREST CATHERINE. You have here a representation 
of some beautiful scenery which I saw near Edinburgh ; I 
don't think I sent one to you before. The reason I write so 
seldom comparatively now, arises from my ignorance of your 
address; I directed my last to Newtown. I shall forward 
this by Yalding, that they may send it on. You can only 
depend on getting letters in this glen once a week, then a 
market carrier scatters about the letters addressed to Blair- 
gowrie and Coupar Angus, and which he has taken up to be 
consigned to Glenchree. Sometimes chance opportunities 
occur as for instance, we were driving to see a nice old lady 
of eighty, when a little girl ran out from a cabin and delivered 
me a letter from Sarah; how it reached her is still a 
mystery to me. 

Miss Rutherford, the old lady I spoke of, dwells in an old 
house in the Highlands built at different periods ; first there 
is a very old tower, with its guard-room ; then there is a 
dining-room, built at a much later period in the sixteenth 
century by a Lady Wemyss and also the room in which she 
was murdered, which she built with others ; then there is un 


addition made by Miss Rutherford herself, a drawing-room 
and gallery on a small scale, containing a few but very good 
pictures, two or three exquisite Titians, some Albert Durers, 
a picture of her grandfather I forget by whom, and a picture 
of his grandfather by Vandyke. She has, besides, a fine 
engraving of the Waterloo Banquet, which cost her twenty- 
five pounds, over the manetlpiece in her dining-room. You 
approach this odd old house by a long avenue of spruce firs, 
by a very pretty lodge, which Miss Rutherford built, but 
she has never found a tenant clean enough to occupy it. 
She had put her game-keeper into the old lodge, but the 
children made the place so dirty that she turned them out ; 
she gave me a kind and pressing invitation, of which I did 
not avail myself, though I was much pleased with her. This 
Dalnagla is really very pretty ; I forget whether I have told 
you so before, I write so many and such hurried letters. It 
is a large commodious cottage, with a good drawing-room, 
lately built ; the walks about it are delightful. 

I was delighted to get an account of Mr. Osborne's speeches 
and that he has justified the good opinion I had formed of 
his talents. In your last hurried note you say nothing of 
darling precious baby ; I long to see her. You don't mention 
whether you go to Chirk or not. I wish I knew where to 

Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Kind regards to Mr. Osborne. I leave this to-morrow to 
travel with Sarah to Dunkeld, Taymouth, Blair Athol, Loch 
Lomond, Loch Katrine. I lunch at Sir William Chalmers. 
I met her at Blair Gowrie. I have hired a carriage and horses 
for a few davs to see the scenerv. 


MY DEAREST CATHERINE, You see I still send Edinburgh 
views, partly because there are no views of Perth and its 
neighbourhood, partly because Edinburgh rests on my mind 
as the unique city of the world. We have to-day to see 
Glammis, Macbeth's Glammis, a most magnificent castle, part 
of which was built early in the tenth century ; it is a ruin, but 
in the most perfect preservation, walls of prodigious thick- 
ness, all the ceilings vaulted and of stone, a beautiful view 
of a lovely country from the battlements, I walked all round 
the exterior to marvel at its prodigious size. Sad to say that 
a hundred years ago the distressed circumstances of the pro- 
prietor obliged him to sell all the furniture, some old 
tapestry escaped. I have been puzzled about the king who 
was murdered there. I have lost so much time looking over 
the history of Scotland. The guide books say that Malcolm 
the Second, Duncan's predecessor, and Duncan were both 
murdered there ; history says that both Malcolm and his 
eldest son were slain in battle, and Duncan was murdered 
in Macbeth's castle in Invernesshire, says Shakspeare, the 
history I have got does not say where ; but still I have set 
my heart on his having been murdered at Glammis, for I 
have seen the room and the bed, with the furniture dropping 
to pieces, it is a most romantic place. I have seen nothing 
like it, it is more striking from not being furnished and 
from its entireness. I am told that architects say that it is 
the strongest castle they know, walls fifteen feet thick, the 
guide book says. I did not measure them, but while rooms 
are taken out of the walls, it is said to be most perfect, the 
most complete of any castle in the British empire. Knowing 
the violent character of the Scotch, how many ruthless deeds 
have been done in that ponderous building. It has been in 
the possession of Lord Strathmore's family since the eleventh 
century. I should like to walk over it every day for a 


week. How much you would have enjoyed seeing it ! I 
have bought an engraving of it, but it does not do it justice, 
I never saw so still a place as this in Scotland. No labourer 
is to be seen, the garden is at a considerable distance from the 
house, and the grass is not mown in front. Poor Margaret 
never reads, takes no interest in flowers, sees no company, 
she must be very dull. She has acted with a great deal of 
good feeling. . . . The Nairns have called on me and I 
am afraid I shall not be able to return their call, as I am 
going to-morrow to Perth and Dunkeld to see the drive Mr. 
O. used to say so much about. Lady D. Halliburton has 
called on me, but I called first with Mr. Clarke whom she 
visits. She is a most amiable person and sends quantities of 
money to Ireland. I hope I shall hear of the election on 
Friday. If I don't hear then I can't afterwards, as we go to 
the Highlands on Friday, and there will not be a post for a 
week. Perhaps it is as well to continue to direct my letters 
to 22, Stafford-st., Edinburgh. 

Kiss darling baby for me love to all friends. Believe me, 
my dearest Catherine, 

Yours affectionately, 


I shall write to you to-morrow. 

Blair Athole. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I send you a view of Stirling 
though I have not yet seen it to shew you how curiously like 
Edinburgh it appears to be, the castle being like Edinburgh's. 
We slept last night at Dunkeld and this morning saw its 
most lovely and delightful grounds, the town itself, both in 
position and construction reminded me of some of the Italian 
villages, the hills clothed in wood rise steep and precipitous 
from the base behind the houses. I can scarcely fancy a view 
more exquisite than that from the bridge. The broad, clear. 


rapid, but shallow river Tay bounded by high steep hills, with 
the cathedral ruined by John Knox (the Savage), embosomed 
in trees, the pretty cottages and villas climbing up the hills 
and those hills so abrupt in their outline ; the grounds of 
Dunkeld are delightful, the hills appearing to enclose the scene 
give such an idea of seclusion ; it was a melancholy spectacle 
to see the fine house which the late Duke had begun, and which 
was to have cost five hundred thousand pounds, standing 
exposed to decay after thirty thousand pounds had been laid 
out on it ; the present Duke cannot go on with it, he is too 
poor. The drive between Dunkeld and Blair Athole is varied 
and exquisitely beautiful, but in point of sublimity the Pass 
of Killiekrankee is not to be compared with the Pass of 
Llanberris in North Wales, or my recollection of the Gap of 
Dunloe. I have seen a great deal of beautiful scenery in 
the last two days. 

Sir William Chalmers who gave us a luncheon at his 
beautiful place, abounding in lovely walks, is a great 
humorist, very peculiar in his habits, but the most kind- 
hearted, hospitable man alive, nothing could equal his atten- 
tion, he would send his carriage with me to Blairgowrie. He 
lives in a one-storied house of great extent of front, it was a 
small cottage and he has been adding to it every year until 
he has made it capable of containing a large family of chil- 
dren and a great circle of friends. His wife is still a very 
pretty woman though the mother of grown up sons. Mr. 
Osborne knew her in the days of her youth at Dundee. His 
mode of living would be strange in England, but it is not 
peculiar here. He entertains handsomely, drives a handsome 
carriage, and is waited upon by women whom they call table- 
maids. They are peculiarly well dressed and look very well. 

I had not time to walk so much about the grounds as I 
wished, but he took me to a most beautiful spot, a deep 
natural basin formed by high projecting rocks, a stream 


forming a waterfall supplies it; from the basin the water 
returns again to the river, this spot is most carefully secluded 
and is called the Lady's Bath. None but ladies are allowed 
to bathe there, even when they don't use it it is held sacred 
to them. Sir William expresses the greatest devotion to our 
sex ; he is a perfect Sir Charles Grandison, and is very lively 
and agreeable, amongst his good qualities, he breakfasts every 
morning at five o'clock winter and summer and looks beam- 
ing with health and vivacity. 

Lady Chalmers related to me the extraordinary case of her 
sister, who lay in a trance for six weeks, and when she awoke 
she had forgotten every circumstance of her past life, she 
did not know one of the family even her husband ; she had 
forgotten how to read and had to be taught the alphabet, 
she was like a full grown child. During the trance her exist- 
ence was only ascertained by applying a glass to her lips ; 
she was visited constantly by the first physicians of Edin- 
burgh. For some time before the trance she was constantly 
falling asleep, she would fall asleep standing, or playing the 
piano; there were several ladies present who corroborated 
these extraordinary facts, they added, moreover, that her 
intellect has recovered its full force, and her memory is per- 
fect except for what occurred before her trance which is 
quite gone from her mind, expunged for ever. She dates 
only frdm her recovery. Is not this a strange history ? I 
heard good accounts of you and precious baby; and I am 
not yet wearied of rejoicing at Mr. Osborne's election. 

Margaret Clarke was most deeply disappointed at not going 
with me, and cried very much on parting at Blairgowrie 
whither she went with me. 

Sarah and I dined at Major Clarke's at Blairgowrie whilst 
the horses were resting ; his house commands a lovely view 
over a fine country, watered by a river, with the village of 
Blairgowrie at the foot of the hill. Major Clarke bought 


tho house and five acres of land for his wife after his death ; 
it is a sweet spot and very neatly kept. Kiss my dear pre- 
cious baby and believe me, 

Dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Kind regards to the Biddulphs and Mr. Osborne. How 
very glad I am that he is M.P. for Middlesex. Don't you 
think that Edinburgh has disgraced itself by turning out 
Mr. Macaulay. 

Sept. 1st. 

MY DEAR CATHERINE, I write to you to-day principally 
to send you the profile of Stirling Castle, a place which 
greatly interested me, both from its historical recollections 
and from the extraordinary beauty of the view from it. I 
am going presently while Stirling is fresh in my memory, 
to ascend Edinburgh Castle in order to compare the two. 

Yesterday I saw two Scotch bishops, one Bishop Russell, a 
friend of my father's, who called for a few minutes to see me, 
and the other Bishop Lowe who dined at Mrs. Walker's, 
Bishop Lowe is an ecclesiastical looking man, very old in- 
deed ; thin and with the slight color in his cheeks which you 
see in healthy old men, who have led pure and temperate 
lives ; his conversation is interesting and agreeable, he told 
me that my great uncle Bishop Strachan had been his spiri- 
tual father. In those days of non- jurors the Church was so 
much persecuted in Scotland that the clergy were not allow- 
ed to officiate to more than a small number of persons at a 
time, and that Bishop Strachan used to go through the 
service ten or twelve times a day to different congregations ; 
he says my father was so like him that you would not have 
known one from the other had they been dressed alike. 
Bishop Lowe told me that he himself always prayed for the 


house of Stuart until 1788 when Charles Edward died. It 
is curious and interesting to find one's self in a society of 
old Jacobites, and one of them like Captain Walker full of 
originality and vivacity ; it is exactly like being in company 
with Scott's heroes and heroines. 

Madeline has a deep quiet enthusiasm which makes her 
feel like Flora M'lvor ; she values names and families as they 
have been loyal; she has no feelings for the present state of 
the world. I had a letter from Mulqueen, &c., &c. 
Unfinished in book. 

Edinburgh, Sept. 2. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I send this little representation 
of Hopetoun House, which I am now going to see this day. 
I may not be able to see the interior as Lady Hopetoun is 
in bad health, and cannot bear any body to go in or to see 
any one. 

I should like particularly to see the interior as I have so 
often heard my father speak of it. I was here interrupted 
by a visit from our old friend Mr. Ewing who is soon to be 
made a bishop after a good deal of opposition ; the affair has 
been pending for more than a year, but I believe it is now 
as good as settled ; he will make a good bishop, he is clever, 
learned, and what is of importance in so poor a Church, he 
is well off, even rich. You cannot think how agreeable he 
made himself, my chest was quite sore with laughing during 
his visit; he is charming, you always liked him and you 
would like him better than ever. 

There are only six bishops in the Church, and they are 
elected by a synod of dignitaries. You would be delighted 
wtth the beauty and correct adornment of the lovely little 
churches, so unlike Presbyterianism. 

Well, we went to Hopetoun House which is a most prince- 
ly residence, the view is splendid. It stands very high upon 


a table land commanding three distinct views of the sea, 
not the proud, wide, cold-looking ocean, but the beautiful 
Frith of Forth with its crags, its islands, and its back ground 
of mountain. I am going to try a little ground plan of 
what I mean by these views. This is very bad, but you may 
form some slight notion of the scene. The sea is about a 
mile off; we saw the house, thanks to Dunlop's recommend- 
ation, and were treated with the greatest civility, nobody 
would take any remuneration for the trouble we gave them. 
This magnificent house was built in the reign of Charles the 
Second. It boasts a beautiful collection of pictures by the 
old masters ; the pleasure-grounds are extensive occupying 
fifty acres, it is a house after your heart. Did I tell you 
what a wretched concern the Duke of Athol's at Blair Athol 
is, it is exactly like Mr. Clibborne's mill. Sarah and I took 
it for a mill. In the time of the old earl, with whom my 
father was intimate, Hopetoun House was kept up in a 
princely style, but now there is a minor, a delicate boy of 
sixteen, and a dowager in dreadful health. . . . Poor 
thing, she has no pleasure in life, how Can she? and quite a 
young woman too. 4th Sept. Yesterday I could not write 
at all ; Miss Arnott called before ten o'clock. The weather 
was lovely, and I walked the whole day without sitting down 
from eleven to five, and feel all the better for it. I am more 
than ever in love with Edinburgh, it will dwell upon my 
memory like a city of enchantment ; you cannot conceive 
anything like the scenery of this bewitching town. Its 
wonderful variety, its magnificent hills, and its lake-like sea, 
and such very agreeable people as the few I have met. 

I long to see you and darling baby. I expect her winning 
ways to make up for the loss of Edinburgh. I leave this on 
Monday. Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affect, mother, 


Kind regards to Mr. Osborne. 


Edinburgh, September 6. 

Mr DEAREST CATHERINE, I must hope that your silence 
proceeds from some puzzle about where to direct to me, 
because I cannot suppose that you would be so cruel as not 
to relieve my uneasiness, when you could do it at so little 
trouble as the writing a few lines would cost you, and I 
should hope that if either you or darling baby were ill 
Mr. Osborne would have written to say so. I must try for 
my own comfort to think that your silence has proceeded 
from accident. 

We went on Saturday to see Linlithgow Palace, where 
Mary Queen of Scots was born: the room is much larger 
and handsomer than that in which she gave birth to James 
the Sixth, it is now almost in ruins, from the roof having 
been burnt down, but the walls are entire, and even some of 
the floors which are overstone. I think it might be easily fitted 
up and repaired ; and the situation is very pretty. I went to St. 
Paul's Church yesterday it being Sacrament Sunday there 
was no sermon in the morning. There were four clergymen 
to officiate, one of whom was Bishop Turrett. The Church is 
very handsome, and the service performed to perfection; 
nothing could be more correct. Two Clergymen sat on each 
side of the altar. There was a solemnity and propriety 
about the whole which one does not always see. 

Mr. Ewing preached in the afternoon. The sermon began 
at two o'clock ; he preaches well, and has a clear good voice. 
Mr Ewing arrived on Saturday. I am to dine there to-day 
I leave Edinburgh to-morrow. I should have gone to-day, 
but for the sake of meeting the Swings. She looks remark- 
ably young. The two boys are pale and delicate looking ; 
the little girl is very pretty, and very healthy looking. She 
was born at the Baths of Lucca. The Puseyites are laying 
hold as much as they can of the Scotch Clergy. I am happy 


to say Mr. Ewing is untainted with their heresies. You may 
fancy from my speaking of several Bishops, that Scotland 
abounds with them ; but there are only six. I shall be at 
home either on Friday or Saturday, but I think it will be 
Friday. I have no idea where you are, but I direct to Chirk. 
Believe me, dearest Catherine, with kisses to baby and kind 
regards to Mr. Osborne, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Belfast, Sept. Thursday night. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Here am I after a miserable 
passage, instead of arriving here as I expected at eight in 
the morning, I did not arrive until eight in the evening. 
The steam-boat was so very much overloaded with luggage 
which made it move so slowly ; it was four hours' sailing 
between Glasgow and Greenock, owing to the tide, besides 
the extreme slowness of the steamer. She was too heavy to 
enter Belfast, we were made to get into a small boat which 
was crowded by such a number of passengers that I was 
afraid the boat would sink, they stood as thick as bees ; there 
was a small part near the stern where we were which was 
kept clear. The Captain sat in the crowd to make them 
balance one another, and we had five miles to go this way. 
It was a wretched affair, but they said such a thing had 
never happened before. 

I met with great civility from a Belfast merchant who was 
travelling with his wife. I am very thankful to be safe here, 
but I cannot be at home to-morrow evening as I remain here 
to-night, which is inevitable. I am sorry that you should 
have the trouble of sending the carriage to-morrow for 
nothing, but I can't help it ; the day after to-morrow send 
for me again. I am quite weary with all the various frights 


and agitations I have undergone. Kiss dearest baby for me, 
and believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affect, mother, 


The vessel left Glasgow at 10 o'clock on Wednesday, and 
arrived at eight on Thursday evening. 

Fethard Glebe, 1847. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Edith is, thank God, as well 
and as happy as possible, she seems to enjoy herself beyond 
my utmost expectations and has taken to Marianne quite 
fondly, who seems proud of the trust, she would insist upon 
keeping her in her arms in the carriage and would not let 
her come to me; I don't know whether she fancies I should 
let her fall, but she certainly acts as if she did. Although 
the sermon had begun we all went to church. Marianne 
carrying Edith after me, we walked upstairs into the Pallisers' 
pew, and Marianne still persisted in keeping the child stand- 
ing in her lap; she gazed on Mr. Woodward with steady 
gravity the whole time, and had she been twenty years of 
age she could not have behaved better this goodness of 
her's has been uninterrupted, she sat during the reading of 
prayers this morning, psalms, lessons, and prayer, without 
moving a muscle, and her little voice murmuring, as if re- 
peating the Lord's Prayer with the rest. We are going to 
take her to Derryluskan to-day with Marianne. I am going 
from this to stay at Derryluskan ; I had promised yesterday 
to go next Sunday with them after church, but Louisa has 
persuaded me to remain here till Wednesday. As I am 
afraid you would not spare Edith to go with me, you will of 
course choose your own time for sending for her; she is 
really quite an angel of goodness and her health perfect. 
Pray give my love to Mrs. Congreve. 1 hope you have not 
forgotten to give her " Sydney Biddulph," and do tell her 


that I have made every effort to get Mr. Woodward's pam- 
phlet ; it is not to be had here ; but one of the Crof ton's who 
is coming will bring it with him. I am anxions to hear 
Grace receives her due meed of approbation, and that Mr. 

Osborne has gratified Mrs. Congreve by singing 

Your affectionate mother, 


I want much to hear how Mrs. Congreve thinks you are 

Fethard Glebe, Dec. 29. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE I am disappointed at not receiv- 
ing a letter from you to-day, and I think you don't deserve 
that I should write ; but I know you must be anxious to hear 
how our treasure gets on. She is, thank God, lively and 
blooming as ever she was in her life, and her goodness is the 
subject of universal admiration she has not uttered one 
cross word since she has been in the house. 

We drove to Derryluskan and to Ardsalla. Mr. Tom 
Gough's little girl was quite enraptured with Edith, and 
Edith knelt before her with a kind of maternal benevolence, 
to bring herself down to the little one's height. 

Mrs. Palliser told us Grace could read at three years' old. 
I have a difficulty in believing that she did not make a 
mistake, as I have never seen a child that was sufficiently 
collected to be taught at that age. 

Mr. Woodward mentions that the mother of the celebrated 
John Wesley never taught her children a letter until they 
were six years old ; she then shut the child in her room the 
whole day, at the end of which they read perfectly; the 
whole process of teaching having been gone through in one 
day. I hope, at least, I shall get a letter to-morrow. Believe 
me to be, with love to the Congreves, 

Your affectionate mother, 

VOL. r. s 



MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I have enjoyed this day beyond 
measure this warm, bright, sunshiny April day. I have 
not been in-doors except during the quarter of an hour 
occupied in eating my dinner. How I basked in the sun- 
shine ! stepped over and over again the new rough terrace. 
I felt like a child come home for the holidays. The terrace 
is quite open now, and it looks better even than I expected ; 

even , not much addicted to praise, was quite struck 

with the effects of the opening. She carried home to-day 
your flower-pot with the chrysalis. The greenhouse is 
greatly advanced, and much planting done in the pond 
ground, darkening up the corner Mr. Osborne was always 
so anxious about. There must have been a strange storm 
last night, which nobody knew anything about ; the decayed 
limb was blown off the old recumbent elm tree, which had 
been propped up so many years ago ; and the river, which 
had been very low, was much swollen and discoloured. A 
water-spout must have fallen somewhere ; here there was no 
sign of rain. 

Colonel Phipps passed censure upon the greenhouse. He 
says it will be excessively pretty, and a beautiful object 
from the steps, but no good for raising plants ; being, as he 
says, much too high, because the plants will be too far 
removed from the glass. On the other hand, Mulqueen says 
all that is wanted will be to have the stage higher. If 
Colonel Phipps be right, we can raise them in frames, and 
bring them in when near flowering. It looks larger than I 
expected. I am sure you will like it ; and I cannot conceive 
that its being two feet higher than Anna's can make so great 
a difference, and it will look the prettier. We can find some 
very good parts in the rejected portions of the old green- 
house to make some frames, which will last many years, for 
the kitchen garden. 


I went to see that great oddity, Mrs. . She is living 

at a hideous place, looking over a dingy bog, with a view ot 
the sea in the distance, looking ugly and steampacketish. 
She thinks this hideous place a paradise; and though she is 
only to be there till September, has made quite a nice 
garden, and to prevent the gravel from being spoiled, 
makes every body come in through the kitchen. " My dear," 
she says, " if the Lord Lieutenant came he must do the same." 
I feel much better since I came here, but I have so many 
friends that I shall not be allowed to remain. 

I have promised to go to the Glebe on Saturday. By the 
bye, Mr. Woodward's Autobiography has set all the world 
of religionists in a ferment. There was nothing in it that I 
disapproved, but oh ! how Mr. will sigh and moan. 

Kiss my darling precious baby. I saw a poor dirty child 
yesterday at Kilsheelan so like her, I could have kissed it 
for the resemblance. 

Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


September, Wednesday, 1848. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I enclose you a letter which I 
received from Grace Palliser along with her note to yourself. 
You see she thinks the baby is called after herself; it was 
not exactly, although you liked the association with her so 
much that her name was chosen, both from its being pretty 
and belonging to one whom you admired. All here is quite 
quiet; it is said there were bonfires last night, but I did not 
see them. If there is to be a rebellion the plan seems to be 
to tire out the military. 

Smith O'Brien and the State prisoners were brought into 
Clonmel without disturbance or interruption ... I am 
told that the priests tell them to wait the proper time and 



then they will all rise with them ; but this I only hear from 

; it was, however confirmed by Mr. . He says, 

speaking of your early days, that you and he and Louisa 
were playfellows together, and he must always feel a deep 
sympathy and interest in all that concerns you ; that there is 
a sentiment in early ties which will always keep its place. I 
believe I forgot to mention that Jane Dickenson has worked 
for your baby, and sent it by Sarah, a beautiful little cap. 
Sarah sends her lore. The Phipps dine here to-day. I long 
to hear that you and the dear children continue well. 

Believe me, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


I have not heard from you these two days. I believe I 
told you yesterday that I will take Augusta to Kilkee and 
get a bed out of the house for her, she has such wretched 
health though she does all her business that it is quite 
misery to see her. It appears that she wants bracing ex- 

Fethard, September 6th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Your letter, which greatly 
interested the whole party, arrived this morning. I read it 
aloud and have forwarded it to Oaklands. I hope by this 
time Mr. Osborne is better reconciled to Kilkee, and that 
this journey will do much towards accustoming him to the 
untoward incidents of a married life, and that he will learn 
to bear them like a philosopher steam packets and children 

I had a note from Colonel Phipps to tell me that Sarah is 
to be with us on Wednesday ; he does not mention Aretas. 
I suppose that idolizing parent is stopping a day somewhere 


with Charles. I am full of uneasiness about you and my 
precious grandchildren. I don't like them having a cold and 
your shoulders aching from cold ; but Miss Darby comforts 
me by saying that it will do you all a great deal of good 
that the thorough change of air and scene will more than 
make up for the risk you have run. Pray be particular in 
telling me how you and the darlings are. Louisa and Tom 
went off in good spirits this morning, and I think by the 
time you receive this you will be happy in the enjoyment of 
their society. I am very glad my precious Edith wanted to 
be taken to her grandmamma. I bought a white mull muslin 
for her, tell her with my love. There is to be a dinner-party 
at Oaklands, with the Pennefathers; that is, the Baron and 
Mr. Richard, and Mr. and Mrs. William, on Friday next, 
to meet Aretas ... I am longing to see Newtown again; 
the terrace garden is begun, and I long to see how it is get- 
ting on. Pray take care of yourself and the children about 
the rocks and cliffs of Kilkee. I dare say you were delighted 
at meeting your old acquaintance, Mr. Archdall. 

You cannot think what a quantity of clothes were sent me 
by the Ladies' Association for the Poor of the Parish. As 

they were obtained through Mr. 's interest, I have left 

the distribution to him. I had a long letter from the Arch- 
bishop of Dublin the day you left, in answer to some obser- 
vations of mine; it is really interesting. I will show it to 
you. I wish I could make my letter more worthy of your's, 
but I have no adventures by railroad and packet to commu- 
nicate. Take care of your health, my beloved daughter; 
take warm baths, sleep well, get strong, and don't let any- 
thing worry you. 

Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 



MY DEAREST CATHERINE. Your letter to-day brought com- 
fort to my heart, by the assurance it gave me that dearest 
Edith is almost quite well. I wish that dear little Grace had 
got rid of her cough; though I think a cough is seldom or 
ever dangerous to a child that is nursed, still I shall be glad 
to know that she is well. I cannot join you until after the 
29th, when I hope to get my quarter's jointure ... I 
am sure I am as economical as possible; but money makes 
itself wings. There are many things which I should like to 
do for the garden; but, as they are merely for ornament, I 
do not do them. I must get some nice bulbs for the terrace 
garden which garden will be beautiful. I have nothing 
new to tell you. The trial is adjourned until Thursday. I 
called on Lady O'Brien on Saturday, but she was not at 
home; she had gone to the jail. Perhaps I may go to-day, 
but the weather is very bad . . . Aretas is not yet come, 
and perhaps may not before post hour, but, if he does, I will 
send an answer as to whether he goes to Kilkee or not. I 
should not be surprised at Sarah's going to Kilkee after all, 
and I hope she may ; she is now in a very cheerful mood, 

but spends most of her time as says most English 

people do when in Ireland that is, in writing letters. Miss 

began upon the old track of blaming Government for 

the poverty of Ireland. I said Government could not help 
the poverty of the lazy and idle ; and that it is the perpetual 
disquiet and alarm that keeps out English capital. This she 
could not deny. She says that Smith O'Brien has learnt 

from all this to place no trust in . Were you not sorry 

to hear of Lord George Bentinck's death? I can scarcely 
tell why I felt so very sorry. I have just heard from Sarah 
that the saucepan out of which darling Edith eats her food, 
and all saucepans of the class supposed to be china, are really 
white lead. Now, neither she nor I know this to be true; 


still I feel it right to mention it. You can ask some chemist 

about it. I forgot to say that I saw at Curraghmore ; 

he seems well and happy. 

Believe me to be, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


" The Mulqueen mentioned in the following letter de- 
serves a passing mention. After his leg was amputated, he 
lived and died as steward at Newtown. He was a man of 
sterling honesty, and great courage and ability, and was one 
of those that if he had been born in a different rank, might 
have been a distinguished man. He took in and car- 
ried out Lady Osborne's masterly designs in landscape gar- 
dening with singular facility and felicity." 

September 12th, 1848. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I do not like to let a day pass 
without writing one line, though I have literally nothing to say. 
I am going to stay at Oaklands to-morrow, but I should much 
prefer being at home every morning, the intense interest I 
take in the garden, which is now making, makes me most 
unwilling to be away. 

I am afraid you suffer terribly from cold by the seaside ; 
luckily you are less chilly than I. For my part, it is ten to 
one if I go at all. 

I find Jaccard did not put Mulqueen's name down in the 
list for servants' wages. Is he already considered " hors de 
combat;" because if he be I will make up my mind to pro- 
vide for him. But if his complaint ends in mere lameness, 
I think he may be nearly as useful as ever, and it will be 
sufficient for me to keep an additional labourer in the garden, 
to be hands to Mulqueen's head. A head gardener seldom 


does any really hard work, and I think Mulqueen can be as 
well as ever. I conceive another month will determine 
whether the poor fellow is fit for anything or not. 

I hope that you and the darlings have got the better of 
your colds, and that Mr. Osborne is better reconciled to the 
place. It was only for the sake of health, your health, that 
it could have been desirable. I wonder how people can de- 
ceive themselves about growing old. Few persons have 
better health than I ; but I feel a stiffness, chilliness, and 
thickening of the blood, which reminds me perpetually of 
the fact. Pray God that you are well and happy. 
Believe me, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


I hope Louisa arrived safely without misadventure. 

15th September, 1848. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am delighted to find that you 
have derived so much benefit from the air of Kilkee, thank 
God for it. I hope you will not be in a hurry to come away. 
I think that though Edith is so well, it will be the means of 
confirming her health and strength for the winter to bathe 
in the sea, or if she does not bathe, to breathe the fine healthy 
air of Kilkee. 

Aretas thinks himself happy in coming in for the second 
edition of the rebellion; he feels excited about it. I was 
at Newtown yesterday. I found Jaccard foaming with rage 
against the authorities for not attacking the rebels; there 
are thousands of them assembled on the mountains. Jaccard 
does not understand that the rebel scouts give notice when 
the military appear, and then the insurgents disperse. 

Jaccard had received information that Newtown was to be 
attacked, either last night or this night, for arms. The 


rebels have already attacked Mr. Galway's house, and taken 
his arms away. They attacked a clergyman of the name of 
Hill, and as he refused to give up his arms, they burnt one 
of his outhouses. 

The . . . were so much alarmed by the fires and 
screams, that they took shelter at Lord Donoughmore's, and 
were presently followed by the Doctor's family taking 
shelter there also. Jaccard said that some of the Newtown 
labourers were pressed into the rebel service the last night, 
but came back next morning. Whether they had been sworn 
in or not I can't say, for I don't know. The information 
about the . . . and the Doctor's family going to Knock- 
lofty, came in a note from Mrs. S. P , excusing herself 

from dining here, her husband being afraid for her; the 
state of the country being such, we are to crowd together 
to let them sleep here. The good-natured Charles Akers 
walked to Newtown to-day to take money for my labourers ; 
he is to come back in the pony carriage, and has injunctions 
to take the Newtown guns, &c., on to the police station, until 
Mr. Osborne decides what ought to be done with them. I am 
afraid of the rebels calling for them, and Jaccard's refusing 
to give them up, and then the people coming in and doing 

A daughter of Howe's was sent by Patrick to-day for 
turf, and came back in a great fright, being told the rebels 
would take her horse. Here ends my information. 
Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I feel very uneasy, indeed 
quite wretched, about you and the dear children. I have 
not heard from you to-day, which has greatly increased my 
uneasiness. I will tell you to what you owe your own cold ; 


it is to taking the lining out of your dresses at this time of 
the year, when it grows colder than ever. Most people aug- 
ment their clothing, but you diminish yours. However, it is 
too late now ; you have caught cold by this imprudence, per- 
haps in time you will learn to act with less impetuosity. . . . 
I was two days in court listening to the trial of poor Smith 
O'Brien. I think his composure is assumed ; he seems really 
to feel great anxiety. There is a knitting of the brows and 
a paleness which cannot be concealed. I heard the Attorney- 
General's charge, which was very full, but I was not struck 
by its containing anything new. 

The papers will tell you all about it much better than I. 
Lady O'Brien preserves her composure wonderfully. 

There was a young Mr. Fitzgerald there who told her 
plainly that there was no possibility of acquitting him on 
one count, and convicting him on another, so as to make the 
penalty less; that all and everyone of the counts involved 
the charge of high treason. 

If I find by a letter from you to-morrow that you do not 
come home immediately, Sarah and I will set out to join 
you. If you do come home on Monday, of course Sarah 
and I remain here, and pray God that I may have good 
news of you and the darling treasures. I am much obliged 
to dear little Edith for the pretty speech she made about 
me. Tell her that grandmamma loves her with all her 

Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate, 

C. O. 

Oaklands Sept. 18th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am delighted to find that the 
precious little ones are quite well, but sorry to hear that 


Edith is so often naughty who spoils her? is it you, or 
nurse, or her papa? you see I am out of the scrape now. 

I am sure a child should always be treated with great 
affection, never contradicted or refused an indulgence through 
mere whim, but when once refused, the indulgence should not 
be granted to noise or even tears; otherwise the experiment 
once successful will always be repeated to gain an object 
. I do not much fancy your account of Kilkee. 

I am glad Mr. Osborne has met with some old acquain- 
tances, which indeed he would find everywhere, as I believe he 
knows more people of all ranks than any body in the world. 
I am sorry to find that Kilkee has disappointed you as to the 
picturesque, but as your health has benefitted by the air, the 
purpose we all desired has been fully answered. I have as 
yet nothing new to tell you of the rebellion ; there were some 
signal fires last night. 

I forgot to observe that coming from Fethard I was struck 
with the lazy lackadaisacal way in which the people in the 
fields by the roadside worked, perhaps from having been out 
at night, but it was quite remarkable ; in many instances they 
did not work at all but stopped and chatted with one another. 
What they mean by these nightly assemblages I cannot pre- 
tend to say, but I believe something they dare not do; but 
I believe that trade suffers materially, and 1 feel convinced 
that the only mode of governing Ireland would be a military 
despotism. . . . 

Mr. told me that the papers found in Smith 

O'Brien's portmanteau are supposed to commit three Roman 
Catholic Prelates, and certainly I have been told by a 
Roman Catholic that most of the priests were favourable to 
the rising until they saw that it could not succeed. If the 
Roman Catholic Church held the place and the revenues of 
ours it would not be the present men who would be fitted to 
fill them. I think it would be a dangerous experiment to 


bring them more ostensibly forward when they are such men 
as they are in habits, manners, and principles. 

Believe me, my dearest Catherine, 
Your affectionate mother, 


Give my love to the Woodwards, and beg them to wait 
till I come. 

1848. Tuesday, 26. New-town Anner. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, You see I write every day. 
Aretas will answer for himself. I do not think he arrived 
here in time yesterday to write by the post, at all events I 
did not see him for I had been engaged all the morning 
potting plants in the greenhouse shed ; could he have found 
me when he arrived he might have written. You will per- 
ceive that my passion for gardening rather increases than 
diminishes. I am just now in a full labyrinth of doubt how 
to finish the terrace garden, as beds under the trees will not 
do well; sometimes I think of making it grass where the 
beds end, which beds by the way even now with only the 
box look very pretty, sometimes I think of having it all 
gravel up to the beds, only broken by tubs of flowers or 
circles of box. 

Fitzgerald can make tubs smaller and more simple than 
those we have for the purpose. I wish you were here to 
decide, for I have no opinion of anybody's taste here in such 
matters but yours. I feel this to be a point of some weight 
in the well-being of the garden. What do you think of an 
embroidery of box in the gravel. Hogan and I feel much 
puzzled on the subject; I think we rather incline to gravel, 
Sarah and Anna to grass. I think either would look very 
pretty. Anna likes grass from having seen a garden at Lady 
Warwick's gravel in the midst of grass, she said it was like 
the setting of a jewel. I rather incline to gravel because it 


gives more scope of future ornamentsin the shape of vases or 
box. I feel myself childish in the way this little matter 
perplexes me. 

Colonel Dwyer came to see this place on Saturday, he 
observed the pleasure ground was in the Italian style. Do 
you remember how much box there used to be in the Italian 
gardens. I hope our precious Edith is quite well, and dear 
little Grace's cold much better. I have fixed on Monday for 
going to you please God. Believe me, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Pray mention your ideas of grass and gravel that I may 
leave word. I hope my delay is not keeping Mr. O. in Kil- 
kee, the moment he leaves you I will make a point of coming, 
that is, I would come on the 29th. 

" During the three years of famine when in addition to the 
general distress, the income tax and poor law came into fearful 
operation, these causes and special circumstances, such as the 
failure of a mine, made the difficulties of Irish life tremendous 
to the Editor, and Lady Osborne to her family and humbler 
neighbours came forth with her wonted generosity but in 
many of the letters traces of these trials appear of necessity." 

The destitution about here is a thousand times greater 
than in Clonmel, and the tenantry at Garranmillan are in a 
most dreadful state of destitution . . . some of the money 
which Colonel Phipps has had from England might have 
gone here where it was more wanted than at Russelstown, 
and our ten pounds which I gave for Kilsheelan should 
have been spent here. The government would have made it 
twenty and it would have kept the parish for a week. Ill as 
I can afford it I must subscribe something. Numbers of 


people have gone without food for two days ; the relief 
committees are incessant but it is impossible to support all 
the poor, and of course those have the preference whose 
landlords contribute. Colonel Palliser has been most gene- 
rous. I believe that the fatal poor law will soon come into 
operation and there will be no choice. 

Mr. Lucas mentioned here is the brother-in-law of Mr. Hull, 
who was one of Mr. Osborne's kindest and ablest champions 
in his first contest for Middlesex. 

Newtown Armer. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I know you will wish to hear 
of the children every day, and so I write, although I have 
nothing to say, except that they are quite well, thank God, 
and happy. I want to take them to Fethard to-day, but 
they have no decent bonnets ... I am provoked; for 
this change of air and healthy drive would have done them 
good. As we had no horses yesterday, Mr. Lucas and I 
walked to the school, with which he was greatly pleased. It 
is certainly admirable. We also went to Anner Mills, but the 
Clibbornes were out driving; we then continued our walk 
to Anner Park ; the lady was out, but we saw the master, 
who gave Mr. Lucas information on various subjects. 

I wrote to Colonel Phipps to tell him that we should call 
on him to-morrow (Thursday), and that I hoped he would 
show the Institutions of Clonmel ; and that we would drive 
there some day, if asked. I hope the Bagwells will be back 
in time to ask us another day, as I am afraid it is poor enter- 
tainment to Mr. Lucas to be "tete-a-tete" with me. He has 
a peculiar wish to see Mr. Woodward, principally because 
his daughter wishes he should. 1 have almost filled three 
pages of " niaiseries." 

Good-bye, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 



We drove in the pony carriage ; I was shocked to find the 
papers are kept back. I am sure Mr. O. never meant such 
incivility to Mr. Lucas. I shall have them sent- to Newtown 
first, and forward them to Mr. O. by post afterwards. 

Glebe, Tuesday, 1859. 

MY DEAR CATHERINE, I am most happy to return home to 
take care of the children. Marianne is a good girl, but Edith 
has no respect for her. I long to see the darlings, and I 
should have been quite ready to go home to-day. I am so 
much obliged to you for sending the Times, it contained that 
most admirable speech of the Bishop of Bristol, recommend- 
ing union between all parties, whilst he strongly blames the 
Puseyites, he expresses a hope from the strong demonstrations 
they have made that they see their error now, and that the 
government see theirs in the encouragement they have given 
to papists, so that it behoves all parties to combine to resist 
the present aggression ; with the assistance of the Puseyites 
they would send us back to the darkness of the middle ages. 
I am sadly afraid that Archdeacon Robert Wilberforce will 
go off to Rome upon the ground of the connexion with the 
State of the English Church, so they prefer like Mr. Henry 
Wilberforce to receive as dogmas each trash that passes 
through the Pope's brain, as, for instance, the immaculate 
conception of the virgin. 1 feel the most intense contempt 
for the understanding of the apostates. Tom Woodward 
has not got rid of his cold, but it is better. 

Mr. Heffernan is coming next week, so I believe that will 
be an obstacle to his visiting Newtown. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


" The dogma Lady Osborne alludes to disproves the 
denial of Infallibility resting with the Pope alone as a matter 


of belief because it was a despotic decree of Pius IX. though 
it had been a subject started and under discussion before, as 
those declare who are sticklers for the antiquity of the creed 
of the Church of Rome. But it would seem to require that 
a miraculous mother should entail a miraculous grandmother 
as a necessity and so on until the humanity ended in Arian- 
ism, as indeed it appears to begin therein." 

Glebe, November, llth. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I send two half notes in this 
sheet, and Louisa will direct another with the corresponding 
halves, two pounds for Hogan to pay my laborers, and half- 
a-crown for two pensioners. You will remember that it is 
on the day you receive this that the labourers are to be paid, 
I am very sorry for the loss of the two trees, poor Newtown 
is gradually losing all her old trees. 

I hope you won't forget to send the Examiner ; we only 
see the Dublin Evening Mail. I revel in the Protestant de- 
monstrations ; I think this Popish aggression the best thing 
that could have happened to put Puseyism out of counte- 
nance, &c., &c. 

Glebe, November 27. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am very much obliged to you 
for your kindness in wishing me to get the Times, but Mr. 
O. was mistaken about its being no use to send it, for you 
know I had not seen Mondays, and we have some reason to 
suspect that it contains a passage of peculiar interest to this 
family, from its being referred to in a letter. However, I shall 
see it when I get home, and if it be interesting can forward 
it here with a charge to send it to Mr. Petherick. The news- 
papers have more interest for me now, than the most exciting 
novel ever had . . . The passage I allude to is a reference 
to ... said to be in an address from the Dean of Bristol 


to the Bishops, not the address to the clergy that we sold 
some days ago, but a speech that I have not seen, &c., &c. 

Glebe, Friday. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I return your paper by this 
post. I think it very interesting, there were several things 
quite new to me, in particular the agreement with me about 
the Bishop of London's Charge ; his approving of sisters of 
mercy, having consecrated St. Barnabas, and in former days 
having sanctioned many mummeries, he is now forced to 
disapprove. But still union is the thing particularly now, 
and perhaps Protestantism will gain in the end, government 
will not in future dare to send bigots to ... and I hope 
the Romish hierarchy here will not dare to be so rampant, 
they have already begun to put down the National Schools, 
now I think such interference should be in some way or 
other prevented. 

I don't know now but some wiser head than mine may 
devise a way of doing the deed, perhaps by announcing that 
i f they put down National, allgovernment grants should be 
withdrawn from them. Give my love to Miss Butler and 
the Darlings. I hope you hear dear little Edith her lessons 
E ver, my d earest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Louisa sends you a letter to amuse you. 

April 21, 1851. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I arrived here last night about 
seven o'clock; Mr. Tompkins was in the carriage and he 
drove me to the Parsonage in his gig. Sarah was kind as 
usual. I had a pleasant journey from Birmingham. There 
was a gentleman who hates Puseyism and Popery as much 

VOL. I. T 


as I do, and he says there ought to be public prayers against 
the errors in doctrines which have sprung up in the church, 
just as in the case of any physical malady. I hear a great 
deal of the enormous spread of Puseyism in England. 

I am writing now at the Vicarage between services, and 
talking all the time, so I cannot fix my mind on what I 
write. I was very sorry to part with you, and long to see 
you again. 

I called on Fanny Rose, who is better than I hoped to 
see her, and delighted to see me, and takes great interest 
about my lodgings, and was shocked when I objected to 
being near her. She was sitting in the drawing-room and 
walked about to ring the bell. Tell me about the darling 
children I wish they were here. They say we shall have 
no difficulty in getting lodgings. I have plenty of irons in 
the fire. Sarah sends her love and longs to see you, and 
thinks me looking well. Love to Miss Smith and the 
Woodwards, and kind regards to the Gardiners. Ever, my 
dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


28th April, 1851. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I have been all day in London 
about lodgings, and have at last succeeded ; you must not 
expect anything fine, but they are very clean and the situation 
good (Font-street, Belgrave-square). You must not start at 
hearing it is over a greengrocer's, as you were willing to put 
up with a baker's, which is less good ; but the entrance is 
quite private I mean of course that it is a private entrance. 
I had a great fit of hesitation about another lodging, where 
there was no shop, but the price was two guineas a week 
more, and it was not quite so large as the one I have taken 
although that is small enough; however, it will do well 


enough. I don't think you will be dissatisfied at least I 
hope not. The two guineas a week which I save will be a 
great help towards a brougham ; without a carriage London 
is more than ever horrible. I have taken them from Monday 
next the 28th, and I hope you will come up on Monday, or 
Tuesday at farthest, as it is a pity to pay for lodgings without 

using them. Lady is next door over a baker's shop, 

both are highly respectable, which is considered a great 

matter in a lodging. The have just left my lodgings. 

Sarah has put me into a fuss when she heard our lodgings 
were over a shop, but I told her you did not mind Mrs. 
Mason's. Our street is rather a better street than the one 
where the seven-guinea lodgings are ours are but five, and 
three shillings a week for linen. I have written to Reddy to 
bring spoons and forks and a tea-pot. Augusta will be happy 
to do your coiffure, &c., &c. 

Vicarage, Saturday Night. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, It would have been of no use 
to write by the post, as no letters enter London on Sunday. 
I am writing now to be able to send off a few lines by ten 
o'clock to-morrow. I was disappointed at not hearing from 
you to-day. I cannot bear to think of you alone in your 
disconsolate house full of workmen; how I wish you had 
gone to the Glebe or Marlfield. I am sure the change would 
have done you good; and, since you are alone, I have not 
courage to prolong my absence by going to Wy combe: should 
to-morrow's letter, which I cannot receive before I despatch 
this, should it tell me that you are gone to some friends, or 
that you have some friend to stay with you, it is possible I 
may go to the Lucases. Otherwise, I shall leave London on 
Friday night for Dublin, and reach home (D.V.) on Monday 
morning. I am now at the Vicarage with Jane, Sarah having 
just arrived, and I go with Jane to Geclges on Tuesday and to 

T 2 


London on Thursday. I cannot describe the deep and tender 
melancholy with which this sweet place inspires me at this 
season ; the most lovely soft view, dressed in all the charms 
of spring; the smooth lawn before the drawing-room and 
my room windows, with its plots of heath and double furze 
in full blossom, and the scenery with its distance seen as 
through a muslin veil, with the sun shining. How well I 
remember when my greatest happiness used to be to escape 
from the unpicturesque bustle of a country town to this 
sweet scenery, peopled too with kind and affectionate friends 

How happy I always was here, in spite of which was 

always smoothed down by dear Aunt Warde's kind and 
loving spirit. I wish I could make the Vicarage what it was 
forty years ago, and that all were living now as then ! As 
I grow old I turn more intensely to the simple life and plea- 
sures of the past. 1 can from these earlier recollections turn 
to the period when you and my precious William were here 
with me and dear Aunt Warde and Margaret, and all so un- 
changed from the time of my childhood and youth, and now 
the house is so still. 

I had a visit here on Friday from an old schoolfellow 
whom I had not seen since she was a slender girl of sixteen, 
and I three years younger ; she has now retained her light 
brown hair, but her figure has become unbecomingly large. 
I can put up with grey hair since I have not become land- 
lady like in size. Sarah sends her love, and wishes you were 
coming here, particularly as your house is so wretched. 
Good night, my ever dear Catherine, and God bless you, 


Your affectionate mother, 


I long to hear that you are well, and my dearest grand- 
children. Richard does not allow letters to be brought on 


Sunday; so I shall walk to the post with this myself. Tell 
Carew, if he can, get my rooms ready by next week ; you had 
better send for Carthy to help, and not only threaten but do 
so. I hope you received my cheque. 

Mailing Abbey. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I remember' pretty well what 
a man-of-war is, and, if times are not changed, the sailors 
are so civil and so ready to help you that I do not remember 
feeling afraid, but I will not go ... 

I must go to the Isle of Wight some day or other, and I 
should like to show Edinburgh to you. I am bitten with a 
spirit of restlessness and having come so far as London, 
before I go back to Ireland, I must either do something new 
myself or show you something new. I would much rather 
go to Plymouth than Portsmouth. I know the latter is but 
a bad edition of Chatham. I like what you tell me Lady 
C. Berkeley says of Mr. Molyneux. I am sure whatever 
may be a man's taste and opinions, when he comes to die, it 
is not the Church, or the sacraments, or baptism that will 
comfort him, but only pointing to the Saviour; and of all 
human doctors in spiritual matters an Evangelical clergyman 
is the best, because he does so guide and direct. 

If the weather should permit, the water-party is to take 
place on Monday, and I have promised to stay for it; and 
unless anything should occur to hasten my return home, as 
I write every day, I will let you know at what hour I shall 
thank you to send for me. On Tuesday we are to go with 
the Savages. Mrs. S. is a very agreeable woman. The party 
will suit me better, but it will not be so gay as those used to 
be that I frequented forty years ago, with a band and well- 
dressed watermen to row us, and plenty of gay young people, 
but we are to go in a barge towed from the shore. I bathe 
here every morning in a very nice bath, probably used by 


the monks in days of yore. There is a stream constantly 
pouring through it, and making a pleasant gurgling sound. 
The weather (as I suppose you find it) is very cold. I should 
like a perpetual fire and the window open. I can't think 
what party you were asked to on Tuesday. I am so glad 
you don't regret it. 

I am glad you speak of going again with me. I wish you 
would meet me on Tuesday . . . Give my love to 
darling Edith and ask her to write to me, rule the lines and 
let her spell as she chooses : this will save you trouble. 

Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I received your amusing letter 
this morning ... I am delighted that precious Edith 
liked the "Babes in the Wood;" it will be a resource to 
amuse her with, if you read it to her. Children are never 
tired of hearing the same story over and over again; and 
now for the Exhibition. I liked it very much indeed ; but I 

don't think can be compared to Grace as an artist. 

There is certainly an impress of true genius about the burn- 
ing of Heidelberg which does not appear in ... There 
is a beautiful window painted by Miss Gascoigne, now Mrs. 
Trench ; and a lady going to church, by her sister, which I 
think beautiful; it struck me as something quite peculiar, 
but I do not pretend to be such a judge as you are. I should 
like you to see the Exhibition. I am not at all certain that I 
may not return by Bristol, out of economy, and on reckoning 
up I was in five railway carriages on Wednesday first, from 
Bangor to Crewe, then from Crewe to Birmingham, then 
from Birmingham to Gloucester, thence another change to 
Bristol, and fifth and last from Bristol to Bath. If it had 


not been for Augusta's almost agonized attention we must 
have lost our luggage, for a season at least. I told you that 
late as we arrived we disturbed no one in the house the 
butler and Miss Smith being up at any rate ; but we disturbed 
the footman in the next house, as the coachman mistook the 
door and knocked furiously and many times, so the wretched 
servant had to dress up and answer the door he was cross 
and indignantly rejected a very large box which was prof- 
fered for his acceptance. I always laugh when I think over 
it. Yesterday I passed a delightful day. The Goughs re- 
ceived me with the greatest kindness and affection. Lady 
Gough came forward and kissed me ; I sat next Lord Gough 
at dinner. Mr. Broderick took me in. Lord Middleton 
dined there; but I only spoke and had no opportunity of 
conversation with him. 1 had a great deal of conversation 
with Lord and Lady Gough; they both speak with the 
greatest affection of you. There was a large party in the 
evening. Lord and Lady Gough were the lions of the 
evening. There were many of their friends. He does not 
go to Ireland until after the 25th; so I shall be at home for 
his visit. I overheard him telling somebody how glad he 
has been to meet me. Lord Gough asked all manner of ques- 
tions about you and your children. Poor Miss Style (their 
governess) is dead. Lady Gough said she wished I had 
seen Lord Gough's reception here. There was no one she 
wished so much to see it, because she knew I would enjoy it. 
They have the same kind, simple, affectionate manner as 

ever. called yesterday; he is in bad odour amongst 

the brother clergy from his popish tendencies. Yesterday 
was a charming party. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 

Mr. Rhoades sends his very best regards. 


" In the course of this compilation, one or two small pur- 
chases of Lady Osborne's are named, that might seem to the 
general reader puerile to print, but to those who knew lady 
OsLorne they recall a leading trait of character. 

She never stinted in anything or anyone, with but one ex- 
ception, and that was herself; and whenever she gave herself 
the most trifling satisfaction, it was always something the 
advantage of which could be shared in by others." 

Sunday, April 7th, 1850. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, There was during two days a 
sale of ladies' work for the schools ; the room is generally 
thin on the second day, and so Mr. Gardiner devised the 
scheme of announcing in the papers that Lord Gough would 
be there between three and four o'clock, he having first 
secured his Lordship's promise. This brought a great crowd, 
each paying sixpence on entrance, between the two days 
they took 160. The Tom Woodwards have a table and 
they took the most. The profits are divided between the 
schools. The clergymen of Bath pull well together. 

In consequence of my visit to Rocklow, I took such a fancy 
to Mrs. Frend, that, knowing how little time the Goughs had 
for visiting, and knowing her love and enthusiasm for her 
brother, I wrote to her to tell her all about them ; I think 
she will be pleased, and I do like to give pleasure. 

Mr. Gardiner preached again yesterday, and I was 
peculiarly struck with his preaching. He is a very powerful 
preacher, and his manner perfect, but he has a very humble 
opinion of himself pays Mr. Elwyn 300 a-year for preach- 
ing for him every Sunday morning ; you would fancy from 
Mr. Gardiner's manner to Mr. Elwyn, that Mr. E. were 
Rector and he Curate. 

You do not tell me about the garden how the tulips are 


blowing ; do impress upon Hogan and you how much I 
hate to see bare earth, and therefore to plant thick enough. 

I long to see you, and the children, and the garden, Louisa 
Mr. Woodward and all friends, though I am very happy here, 
but rather unsettled; I suppose the rainy weather has in- 
terrupted the finishing of the walk by the river, but as soon 
as possible pray let it proceed I am anxious about it. In 
my present plans of economy I was very doubtful about 
buying so expensive a work as the rose-garden, but as the 
woman that deliberates is lost, it ended in my ordering it, 
it costs a guinea and a-half. I have also ordered the other 
book recommended by Henderson ; we are therefore bound 
to excel in roses. 

I think Mr. Gardiner a truly religious man without 
phraseology or affectation of any kind, very mild and gentle- 
manlike, without pretension or conceit, lively and hospitable. 

Lord Middleton spoke with great affection and admir- 
ation of Mr. Woodward, and with great approbation of 
Louisa ; he is most agreeable. was engaged here to- 
day, but sent an excuse by post this morning, dated second 
Sunday after Easter. There is some reason for suspecting 
that his refusal was prompted by his being engaged in some 
Puseyite mischief. I shall cut out the passage in your letter 
about the Tractites and enclose to him, of course including 
your opinion of Mr. Woodward. The Archbishop likes 
Frank Woodward and wishes to serve him, but he does not 
feel quite clear, though he does not expressly say so, that 
Franks views might not lead others much farther than he 
goes himself but you shall see his letter. 

I think Bristol an ugly, gloomy town, like the city of 
London quite different from gay, bright, beautiful Bath. 
I shall not keep Louisa long away from her father, for I do 
not remain here much longer. You must come to England 
next year I hope I can manage it for you, the children 


and you and myself to be always in some healthy place near 
London. Lady Trench and I talked about Edinburgh she 
gave me an account of a Sunday she passed there. She 
went to Mr, Dummond's chapel, and she asked the pew- 
opener who was to preach : " Captain Rennie." I have heard 
that Mr. Drummond does sometimes irregular things, but 
this exceeds them all, and she left the church and went to 
St. John's, the beautiful church I attended. The pew-opener 
had omitted to say that the Captain had taken orders ; there 
the afternoon service was too early, and she went in the 
evening to hear a canting Presbyterian then she described 
a High-churchman who chanted the whole service to eleven 
people, and preached that the greatest sin in the world is 

If only knew how small most of the livings in 

England are, I think he would not complain of receiving an 
income better now than a field officer in the army, after a 
long, painful, and dangerous service, and with the safe and 
pleasant duty of a clergyman. 

Bath, Tuesday, 9th April, 1850. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I was disappointed at not hear- 
ing from you as usual to-day, yet I write. I think you will 
be glad to hear that I am getting reconciled to my grey 
hair. I saw a lady yesterday of my own age, Colonel 
Phipps's friend, who looked so nice in hers, it is so much 
whiter than mine ; she is a very nice healthy-looking person, 
fresh coloured. Her house has some beautiful pictures; 
some by H. Weir, of animals. I never saw anything like 
the horses, sheep, and poultry. There is one by Cooper, 
which is very pretty, but less striking than the rest. The 
house is very handsome and well furnished. We called too 
at the Kings' ; their conservatory, though not large, had 
some beautiful flowers in full blow. We dine there next 


Friday. Mrs. Landor is a lady devoted to doing good ; she 
is supposed to give away 3,000 a year. 

is become such a desperately High-churchman he 

won't even go to the Church Missionary meeting. We dine 
there to-day. We drive, instead of going by railroad, and 
we set out at half-past ten. Kisses to my darlings. One of 
my copies of your picture hangs opposite my dressing-table. 
It is the best I have done, and recalls you, my beloved 
daughter, if it were necessary, to my memory. 
Have you good news from nurse? 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Miss Smith takes every pains for my comfort. I have a 
large bath in my room, like the one I used to use at New- 
town. There are in the dining-room here two most beau- 
tiful water-coloured landscapes by an artist of this place, 
now dead. 

Bath, April 10th, 1850. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am greatly obliged and gra- 
tified by your kind punctuality in writing to me daily. 
Except yesterday, I have always found a letter from you 
awaiting me in the hall, when I come down to prayers at a 
quarter before nine. Everything here goes on with great 
punctuality. I like Mrs. Gardiner very much ; her decided 
advice is that Edith should learn to read, even as a matter 
of quiet discipline. This does not imply any painful exer- 
cise of the brain ; the dear child is naturally very quick. 
We drove to Bristol yesterday, Fanny and Susan Woodward 
accompanying us. 

We found , his wife and six children, and she ex- 
pecting a seventh in another month, in a small but conve- 


nient house, with two priest-like, melancholy-looking, silent 
curates, one of whom always lives in the house. I am not 
certain that his spirits are quite as high as they were ; the 
spirits will, sooner or later, yield to that most depressing sys- 
tem of semi-popery. is very far gone ; he has too a 

superlative contempt for bishops when they don't agree 
with him. He is as friendly and good-natured as ever. The 
children are, as you know, very handsome, and in the time 
I was there I saw nothing to object to in their behaviour. 
The little Gardiners are perfect in theirs ; they are a great 
deal in the room, most of them breakfasting; they never 

disturb anyone. I regret having taken this unhappy 

turn, because it throws him out of the society of the clergy- 
men of Bath, and upon the society of those mournful friar- 
like curates. It seems that 's chaplain has just em- 
braced Popery. I am sorry there should be any converts 
to that system; but if there be any, I would rather it 
should be from that quarter, to manifest the cloven-foot 
which one knows to be there. I must write a few lines to 
Mrs. Benson, and then work at your bag, as I have but little 
time. We dine at the Woodwards to-day. We called on 
the Uniackes, at Clifton, yesterday; he looked ill, but seemed 
cheerful. I observed that the river comes up near his house, 
just like the sea near Woodhouse. He did not seem to relish 
the allusion, as I fear he has no hope of seeing the place 
again. They are in lodgings, and they don't like it. Give 
kisses to my darlings. I congratulate you on nurse's safety. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Miss Smith sends her love; she made me re-open my 
letter because I had forgotten to give it. If you have not 


destroyed the two Bath papers, Miss Smith begs you will 
send them to Miss Butler. 

" Lady Osborne had even more than the usual proverbial 
grandmother's love for her grandchild, Edith, as all her 
letters show. The following one not the least 

On her death-bed, one of her last injunctions was, that one 
of the best microscopes should be got for the child's use." 

Bath, April 13th, 1850 Wednesday. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I write so much and so con- 
stantly and journalize whilst I write, that if there were a 
heroine we might make a quiet novel out of it. There is to 
be a large dinner-party here to-day. I will tell you about it 
in the evening. I have had a very pleasing walk with 
Fanny. I went to see a famous iron shop, and there I made 
two purchases one a flower table for the drawing-room, for 
fifty-shillings, and the other a small beautiful round table for 
the temple, for two guineas. 

I feel very extravagant, but you know the flower table I 
have long wanted, and I think the table for the temple is a 
nice thing to have for reading and working when we sit 
there, which I shall so often do in the summer, and it will look 

When I had written one page I was interrupted to dress 
for dinner, and this morning I received your letter, telling 
me that my darling precious Edith is not well. How I wish 
I were with you all ; I cannot tell you the intense anxiety I 
feel. No language can describe the love I have for that 
child, it seems to make a physical impression on my frame. 
God send my darling health ; and I do feel so for you nurse 
not being arrived. I trust in God she is come back. Is it 
not a mercy that I did not engage to stay longer than Friday ? 
I would not stay for the world : I am so feverishly anxious 


to get home ; and think of my being so stupid as to tell you 
to direct to Yalding. I might have had my letter before I 
go. Pray write incessantly about my little angel. 

Your affectionate mother, 


I hope dear baby is well. 

Wednesday, 17th April, 1850. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I must scribble in a great hurry 
as Fanny Woodward is to call for me at eleven, to go to the 
schools, and we have lingered over the breakfast-table dis- 
cussing a party we were at last night ; it was to discuss the 
eleventh chapter of Daniel. Mr. Keith was there. I had 
been reading up Rollin who relates his history along with 
the prophecy and proves how it agrees in all its parts. I sat 
between that nice dear Lady Trench and her niece, Lady 
Letitia Allworth. Lady Trench said she often felt sleepy in 
the evenings, and was afraid of being cushioned on a sofa. 
I told her that I had my resource in needlework she had 
brought her Bible; well, the discussion began and I never 
heard anything more dull, for sometime I was afraid to work ; 
but at length the fear of going to sleep and tumbling over 
Lady Trench got the better of my discretion and I opened 

my bag, which restored me to equanimity, and Lady 

and Lady were both napping there were about 120 

persons in the room, and I was very thirsty; it was a great 
relief when ices were handed round. The party was at the 
house of Mr. Seymour, author of "Mornings with the 
Jesuits;" they are both remarkably nice looking people 
husband and wife. Keith, the prophet, is a tall, large-boned 
man, with an intelligent countenance, a quantity of hair, and 
talks broad Scotch. I was glad to see once more the sample 


of the olden time . . . Mr. Keith belongs to the Free 
Church of Scotland. I am afraid we shall have a Free 
Church here, owing to .... &c., &c. 

Bath, Sunday, AprU 21st, 1850. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I have not time to answer dear 
Louisa's letter, for we must set out to walk to church at half- 
past ten. I was delighted to get your joint letters at the 
second delivery, last night at eight o'clock, particularly as I 
could not have heard to-day ; as I told you, there is no deli- 
very of letters on Sunday. My curiosity is excited to know 
what it is I shall be glad to see at Newtown besides the dear 
faces and the usual features of the place ; but don't tell me 
what it is; I like the amusement of guessing perhaps some- 
thing in the finish of the walk, or the tubs set up, or the 
pedestals of the temple plaistered there are my guesses. 
Tell Louisa that Miss Smith and I both say that it is not the 

Bath clergy who separate from , but from the 

Bath clergy ; his church views may occasion them to have 
less intercourse, because he cannot unite in forwarding 
common objects; as, for instance, the Church Missionary 
and Bible Societies; but I am sure they will or would be 
glad of his society who would not be delighted to see so 

agreeeable a person as . 1 cannot tell Louisa who the 

are, except that they are very good and agreeable 

elderly people, in a nice house, with a fine view, have no 
children, and a well-filled conservatory in beautiful blow. 
Mrs, has been ill in bed since her party. 

The are very rich people; he was or is a banker, has 

two good-looking daughters, and he married, not long ago, a 
daughter of the late Archbishop Magee a woman of a 
suitable age to his own they live in this row, two or three 
houses from this. At their party I was thinking with regret 
that I had no conversation with Lord Middleton, when, as if 


he had divined my thoughts, he came and sat by me and we 
discussed the most interesting topics. I do not agree with 

about the Archbishop's attaching too much importance 

to his opinion ; he is more fully appreciated in England than 

in Ireland. I wish had heard Lord Middleton speak 

of him, particularly of his abilities, and he is so candid that 
he disdains to conceal his own consciousness of them. I am 
flattered and obliged by your conviction of my popularity, 
as I attribute that conviction to your affection for me, I 
long to be at home again. Jane has declined accompanying 
me to Ireland, but I have written to her a second letter from 
which I hope better success; she will be a most agreeable 
addition and perhaps may recover her spirits and be herself 
again. Tell darling Edith it was her own thimble which she 
gave me to keep, and which had been in my pocket ever 
since, that I sent her. I am glad that nurse comes so long 
before me, because the novelty of seeing her will be over, 
and leave a little more room for gladness at seeing me. I 
called on Mrs. Ben Woodward and she returned my call, but 
we were neither of us at home, and this I regret as she lives 
four miles from here. Love to Louisa, and kisses to the 
darlings. My very best regards to Mr. Woodward. 
Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Bath, Monday 22nd, 1852. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I received two letters from 
you to-day, one for yesterday no post is allowed to come. 
I thank God for the escape you have had, and I trust your 
ceiling will be put into safety for now and evermore. I am 
sorry to think of the sad mess at Newtown ; I don't think it 
will keep me long away from you all. Tell Louisa that the 
school-children, for behaving ill in church, are kept on bread 


and water for a week. The father of one of them com- 
plained that he did not like such a Roman Catholic punish- 
ment; he would not object to his child being caned, he said, 
but a popish penance he could not bear, &c., &c. 

Sunday, April 30th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I was delighted to get your 
letter this morning announcing your safe arrival at the 
Admiralty after your perils by sea and rail ; you don't say 
how the new paper looks pray tell me. Do you know your 
account of your passage has confirmed me in the notion that 
the Bristol way is the best. I had both a berth and a sofa, 
and I tumbled out of one on to the other as I felt inclined, 
and I did not feel the passage rough, although there was 
wind enough to prevent one from walking without help, and 
to make it very cold on deck, and I do not think of my 
passage with disgust. I slept nine or ten hours, and I read 
very comfortably the rest ; when you have no fear of storms 
it is the passage for me. Tell Mr. Osborne that my friend 
the Admiral who told me not to tell Osborne his name 
" when he speaks of Sir C. Napier loving fighting better than 
eating his dinner," did not mean to imply a want of discre- 
tion, but great pluck and animus ... I have been hearing 
the most magnificent sermons since I have been here, from Mr. 
Magee,not Madge's Mr. M'Ghee but I forget at this moment 
whether he is son or grandson of the late Archbishop of 

Dublin ; I like him better than Dr ; he preaches very 

practical sermons, you would be delighted with him ; I wish 
he had a church in London near the Admiralty. I am longing 
to rejoin you. I don't care for society now, I only want to 
see you all get darling Edith to write me little letters all 
her own. We were'&sked to dinner at Mrs. Ames; to Miss 
Smith's great regret we were obliged to refuse, as there is a 
party here ; I bore this with great philosophy. 

VOL. i. u 


I met Mr. Broderick at a party at Mrs. Laudors, what 
charming manners he has ! Lady Maude once said when he 
refused to give a beggar something, he did it in a way that 
the woman felt as if he had given her half-a-crown. Fanny 
Woodward is as agreeable as ever. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Hotel Brighton, Paris, Rue de Rivoli. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. Yesterday, taking with me 
Jaccard and Augusta, I went by railway to Versailles, and 
was more than ever struck by the grandeur of the building 
and the magnificence of its fitting up but all the French do 
is done by their government, and all the English do is 
done by individuals or companies, and to this general 
speculation we owe the Crystal Palace. When we had got 
half through the rooms Augusta spied Miss Smith, Mr. 
Johnston, and William in the next room; I went up and 
spoke and they all joined our party. She was engaged to 
dine with the Arbuthnotts, who had gone to Versailles to 
restore one of their daughters and recruit her strength. I 
dined alone at a restaurateurs, and the Arbuthnotts all 
came to speak to me after dinner ; the little girl seems quite 
well, but what a strange thing it is to see so many people 
believing in mesmerism I cannot yield belief yet. Miss 
Smith and I, after coming from Versailles, walked over the 
Palais Royal ; how enraptured the children would have been 
with the brilliancy of the scene. I did not see one-fifth part 
so much of Versailles as I desired to see, there was no time 
for the gardens at all. I want to spend a few days there to 
see the two Trianons and to study French history, but there 
are no lodgings to be had there the air is considered so 
salubrious. I have not given up the place yet. To-day I 
have been looking until my eyes are weary, and walking 


about until my feet are tired; I have been to Notre Dame, 
to St. Genevieve, to the Pantheon and the galleries of the 
Luxembourg with Miss Smith. You remember the pictures 
at the Luxembourg are modern artists' alone ; I soon dis- 
covered Queen Elizabeth dying, but I believe all the rest of 
Delaroche's have disappeared. We walked through the 
Luxembourg gardens to the monument of Marshal Ney on 
the spot where he was shot. Miss Smith is the most untiring 
of sight-seers. I should have liked, had I been fresher, to 
drive round the Boulevards to-night, but I am fitter for bed. 
Augusta and Jaccard are still out. The weather is de- 
liciously warm; I sit at my open window watching the 
Tuilleries Gardens and the lamps among the trees. Miss 
Smith's rooms are as high up as mine and she has them two 
francs a day cheaper at Meurice. I should take them when 
she goes but that I have not lost all hopes of Versailles. I 
hope the children are going on well. Give my love to the 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


I hope Madge left you quke well. I enjoy the heat and 
sleep delightfully. 

September 18th, 1854. 
Direct your next to me 

Chez Madame Girard, 

7, Rue Maurepas, 


MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I conclude that you are setting 
out for Newtown to-day, and so Jaccard and I both conclude 
that it will be time enough to let him off from Paris next 
Thursday, when I go to Versailles, where I have engaged 
myself to board for a fortnight with Madame Girard, with 
whom the Miss Youngs were. 



Mrs. Arbuthnott told me the Hayters' direction ; they are 
in a splendid apartment Avenue Gabrielle, Champs Elyse"es, 
and they received me most hospitably and gave me a general 
invitation to take tea with them, and a particular invitation 
for last evening, when I met Mr. Charles Villiers I think it 
was he ; he is very agreeable. Mrs. Holland came in in her 
bonnet, she is to leave Paris to-day, and expressed her polite 
regret to me about not being able to see me. Mr. Hayter 
greeted me with a shake of the hand and a hearty laugh at 
my being " larking " about Paris by myself ; he has lost his 
valuable secretary, Mr. Crawford. Mrs. O'Gorman Mahon 
has just been here, and she has engaged me to dine with her 
on Wednesday. I believe I should get into a little society 
if I remained in Paris. I have bought a pretty little present 
for you two little crystals which belonged to King Louis 
Philippe, with his crest and cipher. I was at the Invalides 
to-day to see Napoleon's beautiful tomb ... 1 wish we had 
Lord Dundonald and then we should take Cronstadt, &c., &c. 

Versailles, September 21st. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I dined at Mrs. O'Gorman 
Mahon's yesterday. There was a very nice young French- 
man there, who had been at an English school, and spoke 
English well, though with a foreign accent. There was a 
young officer on leave from Malta, on account of rheuma- 
tism, a son of Baron Richards, and Mr. St. John. Mrs. 
O'Gorman's son completed the party, but in the evening there 

came a Count , a most remarkably agreeable man. He 

is a Pole, and speaks several languages ; he is full of " esprit," 
and would make a good comic actor; he reminds me of 
some one I have seen. He knows Prince Montleart, who is 
at Paris, and whom you may remember. Count Zamoiski 
has just left it for the war, and Prince Czastsiski, who 
said he would invite me twice a week to a soiree if I would 


remain in Paris. He did not approve of my coming here 
at all, and said I should not find it " comme il faut." I am 
afraid he is right. . . . Were you not shocked to hear 
of the death of Mile, de Chabot. . . . They say 
cholera at Versailles has been unknown, and that it has been 
worse in London than it ever was at Paris. I hope the chil- 
dren kept well the night they passed in London, and that 
they had no visitors to disturb them. Nothing is so bad as 
visitors when children are in bed, and I do not think they 
should ever have anyone sitting in their room. I am quite 
clear of the fact, besides I should like my grandchildren not 
to be helpless babies, &c., &c. 

Madame Girard, 7, Rue de Maurepas, 

Versailles, Sept. 26, 1854. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am longing most ardently to 
hear from you. The death of Mile, de Chabot has filled 
my mind with alarm, because she had made a journey just 
before her illness. How I do long to hear that all is well of 

This place becomes daily more and more to my taste. I 
have very agreeable society in the house. The sick lady 
whom I mentioned to you is a delightful woman ; she is the 
wife of an advocate who lives in Paris, and she is here for 
her health. The bracing air of this place suits most people. 
This lady is a great reader, and what she reads has really 
cultivated her mind. It is not given out crude and unal- 
tered, but it has evidently mingled with the soil, and pro- 
duces bright results ; and though she is a terrible sufferer, 
she appears full of sympathy with others. Her physicians 
tell her she cannot live many months, but I hope they are 
mistaken ; she herself wishes to survive her mother, to spare 
her mother the sorrow of her death. 

There is a family here from Spanish America. There is 


the grandmother, who I am told " is delightful," but I do 
not yet know her. The lady who looks young has three 
children by her first husband, and one adopted son, whom 
they had adopted before they had a child of their own. He 
has been educated in England, and the second husband, who 
is a man of very large fortune, seems to have the greatest 
love for all his wife's children, the adopted son and all. He 
is the orphan of a friend. All these particulars I learned 
from the only English lady who is here, and they have since 

been confirmed to me by Madame de herself. The 

family are very rich ; they have come to Paris to educate 
their children, who are " en pension." It is now holiday 
time; they return to school this day week. Some of their 
great acquaintances come here at times to pass an evening, 
and those who love marquises and vicomptesses can be 

There was a great man here last night whose ancestors 
figure amongst the marshals of France, at Versailles. I shall 
look them up. The family keep up their house in Paris and 
their box at the opera, and they have their carriage and a 
train of servants here. Cholera and measles drove them out 
of Paris, and the charms of the pictures and gardens of Ver- 
sailles keep them here. The gardens are more exquisite 
than you have any idea of. Nobody coming out from Paris 
and returning the same day can conceive the amount of 
beauty they contain. 

I walked about with the English lady yesterday, and she 
showed me such magnificent gardens and such lovely flowers ! 
There is a wall of geraniums formed from espaliers, and the 
moment a plant is out of flower it is changed for another. 
Paradise could have nothing more beautiful. I shall re- 
main, please God, if nothing occurs, until Thursday week. 
This place is delightful. Madame Girard is an universal 
favourite; every body likes her. My apartment, which 


Jaccard looked upon with contempt, was occupied until I 
came by the Marchioness of Beaufort. The only fault it has 
is being so cold, as the sun never shines upon it, but I wrap 
up warmly, and sleep from the moment my head is laid on 
the pillow until half-past seven, when I am called. At eight 
o'clock a cup of the best coffee and a tiny roll of exquisite 
bread ; at eleven o'clock I am summoned down to " a dje- 
neur a la fourchette," quite like a dinner, but without a 
tablecloth. I eat no meat, but I warm myself with some hot 
tapioca and milk, and I eat some nicely-dressed vegetables; 
and then the whole concludes with a cup of coffee between 
breakfast and dinner. We read, write, and walk. I walk 
for four hours a day. We dine at six, and the young people 
dance, play, and act proverbs and charades extremely well. 
The elder chat and work ; some play at chess and some at 
whist. I went to church twice on Sunday ; first to the 
French Protestant, and then to the English Church, at both 
of which we heard very good sermons. 

The English are in numbers here. I am just returned 
from a walk with Madame . We exchanged a pro- 
mise of correspondence ; she does not expect ever to see me 
again. Her complaint is cancer, which she supports with 
astonishing fortitude, poor dear woman ! It is not her only 
complaint, for she has an affection of the lungs, and she is 
painfully thin, but she feels it her duty to keep up her 
spirits, and not to make others unhappy. Our walk to-day 
was in the magnificent avenue which leads to Trianon 
Augusta ; and I went to Trianon the other day without 
knowing whither we were going. We did not take the 
straight road, but made a long detour, and I was surprised 
to find myself in face of Trianon. 

We saw both the Trianons, which teem so with remem- 
brance of poor Maria Antoinette. The Duchess of Orleans 
inhabited the little Trianon after the death of her husband. 


I forget whether I told you that Madame Girard was once 
in good circumstances, and they lost most of their fortune 
by being entrapped in speculations. She meets with great 
respect from everyone, and is much visited, and her courage 
in wrestling with misfortune is respected. 

My poor sick friend is obliged to sit down often in her 
walk. I am going out with her again. I hope you get 
(word illegible) for music, and Edmee speaks French with 
the children. I enclose a cheque for Jameson ; pray be good 
enough to give it to him. 

Do ask Mr. Osborne to give some very little place to 
Augusta's husband. Pray do. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your most affectionate, 


Paris, Wednesday, Place VendOme. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Here I am on my way home, 
and I am very glad to be going home. I left Versailles 
with the greatest regret, and I hope, please God, to see it 
next May, when I come for the great " Exposition ;" it is 
there I mean to be. I hate the hotel I am in, and I wont 
remain here a day. I set out to-morrow for Boulogne. 

There is an unhealthy feel about this house, so unlike my 
dearly beloved Versailles. Yes, I will leave it to-morrow. 
I must call on Mrs. Hayter this evening, and on Madame 

J , if I can manage to do so. I hate this air, and the 

nasty back room they have given me here. You have no 
idea how extraordinary healthy Versailles is. It is the marvel 
of France ; and what shall I do for my delightful walk in 
those glorious cathedral-like avenues? 

I have got into a second-rate hotel, owing to taking 
Galignani's advice and going to the Pavilion ; and the driver 
brought me to an old hotel, which, though clean, has the 


old Irish frowsty smell ; you know the half musty smell of 
an Irish inn. You see I began in Paris and end in Bou- 
logne. Love to my darlings. . . . 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Folkestone, 17th October, 1854. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Whilst waiting for the train, I 
write to tell you that I am so far on my way home as to 
proceed to Yalding to-day. 

We had an^excellent passage. The sea was quite calm 
but the skies poured such torrents that every body was 
obliged to take refuge in the cabin, and intensely crowded 
we were. When we arrived, the crowd augmented by the 
men coming to look after the luggage. 

This is a delightful hotel. There is an hotel at Boulogne 
of the same name, equally grand, and perhaps more showy ; 
but it was night when I arrived, and the stupid driver took 
me to the old hotel of the same name, and kept by the same 
person, which is nothing more than an " estaminet." The 
next morning, on finding out my mistake, I went down to 
the new grand hotel, and lectured the man. 

I forget whether I told you this before, or indeed whether 
I wrote from Boulogne. Yes, now I remember, I finished a 
letter begun in Paris. Well, I went, as I said I would, to 
an hotel near Caroline, where I had a beautiful " salon " and 
two bedrooms for six francs a day. I forgot to tell you my 
bill the three days at the Vigneron cost just the same as 
the one day at the Pavilion's estaminet, and the wind blew 
all round from a balcony. . . . This is a nice gay town, 
but I prefer Dieppe, &c. 


Talding, Thursday, October 27, 1854. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I received two letters from you 
to-day lamenting my cough. I am happy to say it is no- 
thing now, scarcely an inconvenience. It would have been 
a miracle had I escaped at Boulogne, going out of the hot 
sitting-room at night to walk to the hotel, and when there 
everything cold. The air was so much colder than Ver- 
sailles, it was quite another climate. I think of Boulogne 
with disgust, as of an ice-house, and every body sick there. 

Caroline had two persons sick in her house, and all her 
friends had persons sick, or dying, or dead. It was like a 
large pest-house. I went to look at the camp. It consists 
entirely of huts and tents. Caroline says Prince Albert's 
visit was most interesting. She was in a state of excitement, 
and called out " Vive T Empereur a Jamais ;" she was then 
with her children amongst the horses. The Emperor took 
off his hat to her, and said, " Mais, madame, prenez garde 
aux chevaux." ... I am going to dine at Richard's, to 
meet Colonel and Lady Frances Fletcher, who live now at 

Your affectionate mother, 


Loiidon, Wednesday Evening. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I cannot tell you how happy 
your two last letters have made me. I am so glad you wish 
for me so much. I received the letter of credit, and alto- 
gether I feel as light as a feather ; so happy to be so far on 
my journey home. We found the Roses going to a brilliant 
affair private theatricals and a ball. Madge looking very 
handsome and Fanny also ... I am determined you 
shall have a house for two months next spring, if, please God, 


we all live so long. I hope nobody doubts my coming to 
you. God bless you, my beloved daughter. I shall, I trust, 
embrace you two or three hours after you receive this I 
think I shall be at Newtown at four o'clock, &c., &c. 

" The last place at which the editor was Lady Osborne's 
guest was St. Aubyn's, and it will ever hold for her a peculiar 
but melancholy interest, especially as a heavy blind, while 
staying there, fell upon Lady Osborne's head, which the 
editor fears may have injured her, as she suffered a good 
deal at the time from the accident." 

Parsonage, Thursday 2nd, 1855. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Mrs. Warde and I went to 
Tunbridge Wells yesterday, and I have taken a house from 
next Tuesday for nine guineas a week ; it is not on Mount 
Ephraim, nor yet in Calvary Park, but a very nice house in 
an excellent situation, with a very pretty view on one side 
it looks on the common and on the other the park ; it is called 
St. Aubyn's, and that is where you must come on Tuesday; 
let me know at what hour you will arrive on Tuesday. The 
house is so dear that I want to make use of it directly you 
should send the servants early on Tuesday with plate and 
linen, which you know are never found. The family who 
are in the house go out on Monday, and the agent promises 
to have it ready for us on Monday evening; so I agreed to 
take the house on Tuesday as Monday would be too soon. I 

ordered in some coals, and tell Miss I also ordered in a 

piano. I am going in very early on Tuesday, to see all 
ready before you come. I will not say too much of the 
house and view lest you should expect too much and be dis- 
appointed, but I think it is very nice; it is near Mount 
Ephraim and about as high. As you preferred Mount 
Ephraim so much I tried to get a house there ; there were 


only two vacant, one was too small and the other ill-furnished, 
you know I care a great deal about that, and then the 
windows are so small. Now, the house we have got has 
handsome modern windows, I think of plate glass. The 
house was built and furnished by a Captain for him- 
self; but he is now living in Bath and has let his house at the 
Wells. Of course, Mr. Osborne will say I have paid too 
much, but I saw nothing that would suit us so well. 

James Akers has let his house until October for eight 
guineas a week, and he is now in Wales, at Aberystwith, one 
of the places Mr. Osborne proposed for us. Only one guinea 
a week less than I pay, and then it is taken for a long time 
. , Pray let me know, as soon as you have made up 
your mind, how many servants you will bring, and then I 
shall know what arrangements to make about beds . . 
Everybody speaks of Tunbridge Wells as a paradise for 
children, and so renovating. I could have got a house in 
the grove, but I would not look at that situation nor yet at 
Mount Sion. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Mount Congreve, Thursday. 

Do you know I was almost dreading to see this terrace, 
lest it should put me out of conceit of ours ; but beautiful as 
it is, it has not done so, though the walk is something broad- 
der, the terrace is much shorter than ours. The shrubs are 
beautiful. Mrs. Congreve has brought them to a great degree 
of perfection. I am always wishing to learn, and I think I 
have learned something ; yet it is curious how difficult it is 
to take a hint from one place for another circumstances 
vary so much. 


Wednesday, 23rd. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Mr. J. Palliser's letter is very 

affecting, the poor dear dying Mrs ! but it is not she 

who is to be pitied, but her husband and her daughters ; yet 
the world's waves will soon close over her, and leave scarcely 
a ripple to mark the space she has left. I wish very much I 

had accepted 's repeated invitations after my dear friend 

came from Blarney. 1 have now the pain of thinking that I 
might have seen her and that I did not. 

Mount Congreve, Wednesday. 

I like Mrs. Congreve better than ever. I have wonderful 
sympathy with her on religious subjects, her conversation has 
revived in me the things that were ready to die. 

Tourin, December 5th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am sorry to find that you do 
not speak of Grace as being quite well, I hope I shall have 
the happiness of finding the little darling as well as her pre- 
cious sister quite blooming on Saturday. I have enjoyed 
my visit here particularly, but I am delighted at the prospect 
of getting back to you all again. I trust that Edith says 
her lesson every day ; and I hope I shall find Sir Richard 
Bulkeley at Newtown. We are going to-day to lunch at Lord 
Stuart's. The Duke of Devonshire called here yesterday ; 
how kind and courteous he is. I trust you won't forget to 
send horses for us. I am glad to find Protestant feeling 
keeping its hold in England, and I do trust that Oxford 
and Cambridge will be purged from Popery. I think this a 
remarkably nice house the staircase particularly handsome. 

I find the family circle very agreeable. Yesterday I play- 
ed two games of chess with Mr. Musgrave. I played both 
well for me, and I did not make a single oversight ; he won both 


by sheer superiority of play. I forgot to tell you that we 
met John Palliser at the Duke's. He had been spending some 
days there and singing. He dined and slept here the same 
day, and left yesterday ; he wishes to go to Africa, but to 
please his mother has given up the notion for the present at 
least. John made himself most agreeable, and was full of 
life and fun. 

Believe me, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


1 hope Edith says her lesson to nurse. Pray send the 
horses very early and let them have a long rest on Saturday. 
How unlucky we are in weather. 

We should form a judgment of people from what they 
are to inferiors and dependents and not to ourselves, 

I send you a very interesting letter which I received from 
Richard Warde : what a good creature he is ; if all clergy- 
men were like him there would be no fear of apostacy from our 

I have set my heart upon saving a little money for you 
and me to go to London to see the great Exhibition. 

I had Chalmers life before. There is an article in the 

English Churchman about Lord which will interest 

you ; it proves him to have entered the Church of Rome 
without any proper examination of the controversy, and that 
by the admission of the Roman Bishops. 

Thank you and Mr. Osborne for sending the Welsh paper. 
Sir Richard Bulkeley's speech is excellent, and like himself, 
most gentleman-like. 

We had a very pleasant morning party at the Duke's. The 
day was so dark that he did not show the drawings. The 
band played, and even I thought the music beautiful. We 
stayed a great many hours there, and it was very agreeable. 


Louisa saw dancing for the first time in her life, and thinks 
it very foolish. The Duke talked to me a great deal, and 
he says he hears me very well. He is full of Mr. Osborne's 


I hope I shall find you all well on Saturday ; please God I 
shall be at home on that day. Tom Woodward came here 
yesterday, and is to preach to-day. 

I am going like the rest to walk to church ; but I tuck up 

my clothes and don't wear my best bonnet. Lord 

and I have been having an argument about Puseyism already 
this morning. I wish he were a good Protestant. I never 
feel sure of any one who has decidedly adopted High-church 

Lady says little on the subject, but I know she 

holds church views. 

Friday, 5th December, 1848. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, You see by the papers that 
Louis Napoleon has restored order ; I think he is playing his 
uncle's game, and successfully too. I hope he will not set us 
all fighting again, or if we do fight I should like to fight 
against Austria and Naples and not against France we had 
better be good friends with France. Lord and Lady Monck 
are not yet returned, and will not be back until late in the 

day . . . The Archbishop advises to go to one of 

our colonies to a college there, he says from my de- 
scription that post would suit him. I am puzzled about a 
toy for Grace. Fanny is very engaging. We were made 
alternately to enact the part of queen at a presentation. I 
am longing to see you ; you know I am coming home on 
Saturday next, please God. 

Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 



Sunday Morning before church. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I have not yet heard from you 
and yet I write a second time. 

St. Helen's is scarcely half an hour's drive from this, and 
Mrs. Whately had been intending to call on Lady Gough 
the Archbishop having already called on Lord Gough and 
my coming gave an impetus to the intention, and so we 
called ; Lady Gough received me most affectionately. The 
house is beautiful and the garden charming; the drawing- 
room opens into a beautiful conservatory, in short you could 
not have a more delightful house. There is a beautiful view 
of the sea . . . Mrs. Gough and her beautiful little girl are 
staying there. Mrs. Whately is much pleased with her and 
has invited her to accompany Lord Gough. On Tuesday we 
go into Dublin for the entertainment, and return here on 

I have written to Lady Monck to fix Friday for going 
there ; we must be in some kind of mourning for the King 
of Hanover; Mrs. Whately and I mean to wear our black 
velvets; I hope you and the dear children are well, 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


We go to church in Dublin. 

Sunday evening. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I wrote you a hurried note with 
an infamous pen this morning. The weather was so bad 
that we did not go to church, it was that cold dreadful-feel- 
ing rain, and I have been toasting over the fire in my room 
until even my head feels hot, and I am not sorry to move 


from the fire to the sofa. I had but little time for writing 
by the post, but I received several letters, yours, &c., &c., 
and one from Lady Gough, asking me and Louisa to St. 
Helens ; now I feel I have been absent long enough, and am 
very anxious to return home, yet there are considerations that 
make me think it wise to accept the invitation to St. Helens ; 
I think it wise and right to keep up old friendships, and 
Lady Gough's invitation is most kindly worded, therefore 
my present plan, although I have not told Lady Monck, is to 
go by her carriage when she herself dines with the Lord 
Mayor, she and Lord Monck, next Thursday. I am weak about 
saying this lest Lady Monck should fancy I am offended at 
her dining out, which is not the case she has been engaged 
these three weeks, and I never intended to stay beyond Fri- 
day, which would complete my week. I want to see Louisa 
to know what she would wish about going . . . Lady 
Gough expresses a wish that I should be there on the 12th 
to meet a party, but I am anxious to get home to see you and 
my darlings ; the carriage goes to-morrow for Louisa . . . 
I have, never seen people so actively, so intelligently good as 
the Whately's they think of nothing but doing good from 
morning to night and they are so very pious; religion and 
self-government seem in perpetual operation . . . they have 
now two new societies, one called the Right of Conscience, 
to which the Archbishop gives 100, for the protection of 
converts in Ireland, of which I will send you a prospectus, 
and the other for female Education amongst the natives in 
India. The plan is to send out work from Ireland to be sold 
for the benefit of the Society, and you and I must do some 
little matter. Monday : I was in hopes of hearing from you 
to day, but the post has brought no letter. I hope to be with 
you some day next week, and I long to see you. 

Ever, your affectionate mother, 

VOL. i. x 


Newtown Anner, Friday 22nd. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. Jaccard waited up for Carey 
until a very late hour last night, and he never returned. 
Jaccard concludes that he has been taken to Barnane ; if so 
I suppose he will be back this morning . . . The darling 
children are quite well, thank God, and we are all on the 
best of terms well and happy and not a cross word or even 
an impatient or querulous expression has been heard all is 
peace. I hope you are enjoying yourself very much, and 
I trust you did not forget to make my excuses to Mr. Garden 
pray tell him that I was much obliged to him for his 
politeness in asking me, but I know enough of the world to 
be quite sure that after fifty a woman's room is better than 
her company ; tell him so with my kind regards. 1 received 
a letter from Sarah to-day which I enclose. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Sarah writes a good letter; she tells everything naturally 
and well, and does not seem in a hurry to have done. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I did not write yesterday morn- 
ing because I had not then seen anybody you would care to 
hear about; I called upon Lady Ormonde, and she received 
me most kindly; she is in Mr. Roche's house. Nannette 
Uniacke was in great spirits and full of fun; Grace and 
Mary Palliser came in we were mutually pleased to meet 

Grace read aloud a letter she had received from Mrs. P 

about . . . their conversion has excited great sensation. 
I really wonder any person can be indifferent to events 


which, if they go on, will bring England back to priestly 
domination and the darkness of the middle ages. I hope my 
precious grandchildren are well. 

Ever, dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


I bathed in the sea yesterday. I am now going again. 

Friday, 7th. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE. I have literally nothing new to 
say. 1 dined at Oakland's and brought home Anna's presents 
for the children. Edith's happens to be a dissected map of 
Robinson Crusoe, with a book of the story which you know 
she is wild about. I am very happy in teaching her that 
she is always so sorry to go ; nurse tore her from me to-day 
in the midst of putting out a map of Europe which I had got 
from Fitzhenry's yesterday. I wish this may always be so f 
and that lessons may be found agreeable. We are to go to 
Oaklands to-morrow I mean the children and I to take a 
one o'clock dinner, but I shall come home at five o'clock with 
them. I found your letter at the Post Office yesterday, at 
six o'clock, and your little note to-day came at the usual 
hour; I hope you are cheerful and sleep well, and the 
children are well and good. Edith is most companionable. 
Dr. Hemphill and his wife paid me a visit". . . I should 
like Edith to become a perfect workwoman . . . dear little 
Grace is very pleasant too. Pray give my kind regards to 
Lord and Lady Monek and Mrs. Newton. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Dr. Hemphill has given me a quantity of hints. 

x 2 


"The following letters the last Lady Osborne ever wrote 
are given to show how her mind and heart held sway 
even in the midst of overpowering disease." 


MY DEAR SARAH, I am going to write about myself, rather 
a dull subject; but I shan't keep you long on such a barren 
subject. I believe I told you before that I am tolerably sure 
that there is nothing seriously the matter with me, only a 
disgust to food, want of strength, and a singing in my ears, 
and occasional disposition to giddiness, with very low spirits. 
I drive out a great deal, which I believe does me good ; but, 
I again repeat, there is not much the matter with me; but I 
have not been much used to illness, and I dare say I think 
more about it than I ought. I believe it is merely nervous- 
ness, and if I could think myself well I dare say I should be 
so. Mrs. Fairholme and her husband are in London and 
dine with us to-day, she and her husband, and Mary. Though 
I am sure there is nothing serious the matter with me, yet 
it makes me very uncomfortable pains in my eyes which 
come and go. I am sure I could be well if anybody under- 
stood how to treat me. I am going to Scotland, and I think, 
with God's blessing, that may do me good. We dined at Mrs. 
Arbuthnott's yesterday (Lord Gough's daughter) ; she has a 
beautiful house, near Hyde Park, but the rooms are not 
nearly so good there as here. We met Mr. George Gough 
and his wife there and a number of other people. Give my 
love to Anna and tell her I was very unwell the day she left 
London ; but that I am much better now. Give my love to 
all with you, and tell me how is. 

I am, dear Sarah, yours, 




MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I scrawled off a few lines just 
to express what I knew your kind affection for me would 
make you wish to hear that I felt quite well after my 
journey; but I did not tell you how gratified I was by your 
anxiety about me, and how grateful I feel for your interest 
in my perfect recovery my dearest object of affection, my 
beloved daughter, I can never express how dear you are to 
me, how inexpressibly I love you. What in the world can 
be compared to you in my estimation ? Let me know how 
soon you are likely to be in Ireland, that we may not be long 
divided. I was so much touched by your manner to me this 
morning that I cannot express how deeply I felt your follow- 
ing me to the station and your whole conduct when there. 
Never will I do anything that will separate me from you, or 
go anywhere but with you ; and now, though I have some- 
times said it, it would be impossible to do it. Good night, 
my most dear child. Believe me ever, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Chappel, July 6. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am quite well ; as well as ever 
I was in my life, and have a very good appetite, and think 
everything here very pretty and very delightful. There are 
the two Fairholmes here both intellectual and agreeable the 
gentlemen peculiarly polished. I am writing in the midst of 
conversation, which distracts my attention, and I scarcely 
know what I write amidst such a Babel of tongues ; but it is 
such a blessing to feel as well as I do. I have not had such 
a feeling of health this year ... I am longing to hear 
that you are moving from London ; I am sure it is not healthy 
at this season. Mr. Fairholme is a jewel of a man; he has 


very superior tastes, and is so fond of art. They are as happy 
as the day is long. So much taste and talent. I must now 
leave off; we are soon going out, I believe, in an open 
carriage. I have the common and vulgar fear of spoiling 
my clothes by rain. I hope the dear children are well. I 
have a sort of horror of their getting the measles, or some 
other horror. This view is pretty much like what you see 
in England; I am not satisfied with it as a specimen of 
Scotland ; it is too calm, but very pretty ; and now the post 
has just come in, and has brought your letter ... I 
hope we all shall meet in good health, and I hope the green- 
house will be finished. I might have done, if not cheaper, 
probably better, if I had built in Scotland. You can't think 
what a nice person Mr. Fairholme is. Their carriage is come. 
Good bye. 

Your affectionate mother, 


Chappel, July 7. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, Here I am safe and sound. I 
have already begun to feel the benefit of the air of the place 
by eating a hearty breakfast, although I did not sleep 
well, having been so much excited by finding myself in 
Grace's house among so many kind friends that I could not 
close my eyes until long after daylight . . . Only think 
of my stupidity; I left all my stamps behind. They were in 
the pretty Scotch case dear little Grace gave me ; it must be 
in my room ; find it for me. 

This place is very prettily situated, with a fine view over 
a richly cultivated country. Nothing can exceed the kind- 
ness of the Fairholmes. Grace is delightful in her own house. 
Once I never hoped to see her in a house of her own, and I 
am proportionately happy to find her there. It is so much 


colder here than in England, we enjoyed a fire last evening, 
and, to tell the truth, I should be glad of one now. This 
place is surrounded by low hills, thickly planted ; the country 
here is very highly cultivated. I hope Mr. Osborne has given 
James the place, as the poor fellow is most anxious about it ; 

it would be much to keep it from him, that might not 

have the trouble of training another boy: besides he can 
have one ready trained and much smarter. I lay awake 
thinking of this until four o'clock this morning ; . Help 

him to get it. Mary is very well. The two children are 
darlings neither of them speaking. The post is soon going 
out; it starts at eleven o'clock. I hope my dearest you do 
not go out enough to hurt yourself. Love to Miss B. and 
both the darlings. Take care to send my carriage home as 
soon as the month is up. I think it is either on the 6th or 
the 7th ; if so, it ought to be sent home at once. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


" No one ever had more intense power of sympathy in the 
happiness of others which they have had no hand in bringing 
about, than Lady Osborne. Many like to give pleasure and 
confer benefits ; but not all can receive the same unfeigned 
delight she experienced at witnessing the joy of others for 
its own sake." 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE We are going to-day to Melrose 
and afterwards to Abbotsford, if we can accomplish as much ; 
but the weather is very threatening, and yesterday was the 
day of the watery saint, St. Swithin. I am afraid we shall not 
see Abbotsford and Melrose ... I almost dread the 
disagreeable rain to-day in the open carriage, but there is a 


head to it. I am told it is a warm south wind ; but you 
must remember I cannot answer letters the same day. I 
wish you would tell me how the children are looking, and 
how they are. The children here are healthy the eldest is 
very intelligent, considering she does not speak the other 
little thing, Caroline, is also pretty and very fat. Would 
you believe that I am grown so nervous as to be afraid of 
Grace's driving; but I say nothing about it, I suppose I 
shall think a great deal of Sir Walter Scott. Is it not a sad 
thing his grandchildren have become Papists . , , Mr. 
Fairholme is away, as I told you, salmon fishing. 

Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


July 9th. 

MY DEAEEST CATHERINE, I have just despatched my diur- 
nal letter to you in such haste that I had not time to sign it, 
for the postman is always in such a hurry, and I was afraid 
he could not cross the river on account of the floods. Then 
I could not immediately find my stamps, in short, I was 
in a great flutter. Mr. and Mrs Fairholme, as I told you, 
are both out. . . . They do not think much more of driving 
into Edinburgh than we do of driving into Clonmel. It is 
thirty miles off I don't know how far Stow is, but I conclude 
about half way, as I suppose it must be further than Melrose. 
. . . The first day Mr. Fairholme and Mr. Forbes and I 
drove to Lord Lauderdale's. I suppose Mr. Fairholme, out of 
pity to my inactivity, prevented me from getting out of the 
carriage. It was a curious old castle, and I should have 
liked to see the inside. Lord L. is descended from the Lord 
Lauderdale in Charles the Second's time, who is not mentioned 
honorably in history. He and Lord Maitland came out to 


see me as I did not come in both gentlemanlike looking 
Mr. and Mrs. Forbes, relatives of the Fairholmes, have been 
staying here. He is quite a devotee of the Fine Arts. Ever, 
my dearest, 

Your affectionate mother, 


July 16th, 1856. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I have seen Melrose and Abbots- 
ford. I can now picture to myself in no doubtful guise all the 
scenes of the Waverley Novels. I believe I have seen them 
all. It was rather affecting when the old man (a stupid old 
man too) who shewed us over Abbotsford and we asked him 
about the changes of the place, he burst into tears. I dare- 
say he is tormented about his religion although he said he 
was not. Abbotsford is larger than I expected to find it, but 

it is small although in very good taste. I believe poor was 

very much annoyed about 's change of religion. The 

visitors at Abbotsford are so numerous as to be quite a source 
of annoyance to the Scott Hopes who live there. It is really 
a very pretty place, but not in the least striking or romantic. 
The country about is very pretty but has no striking feature. 
I am longing to be at home again with my beloved daughter 
and my dear grandchildren. There is nothing but green 
leaves to remind one of summer ; and the weather is intensely 
cold, and we have a fire only in the evening. They would have 
a fire for me in a moment if I asked, but I am ashamed to say 
a word, and after going out the fire becomes oppressive. I 
wish the weather were seasonable or that we could make up 
our minds to that cold grey look of the sky. I am longing 
to see you and the children. I am getting afraid that Edith 
is growing thin do observe if she be. And I am pretty sure 
dear little Grace is. I wish we were all at home and you no 


longer in that gas-breathing house. I have nothing new to 
tell you except the old story of my affection. Believe me in 

Your ever loving mother, 


Saturday, 19th July. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, The weather is wonderfully 
cold. I think all hope of summer is now to be given up. 
What a trite observation ? You ask me about my health : I 
am most decidedly better, almost well ; but I have not lost my 
headaches ; they are not very acute, and are very bearable. 
It would be a great comfort if they would go away, but I 
suppose I must not expect that at my age. I cannot hope to 
lose all ailments ; but it is a great blessing not to have gid- 
diness or sickness I have no reason to complain. . . . 
I believe this greenhouse has cost so much on account of the 
water rising. I am delighted at the hope you hold out of the 
roses coming and I trust it will be fulfilled. I do so long to 
see you. I feel wretched about the children being so long in 
London. I wish we were all at home. Ever, my dearest 

Your affectionate mother, 


July 21st, 1856. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, When are you thinking of 
coming home? You say nothing about it, and I really think 
it is time to be forming some plans on the subject. Can it 
be possible that you are still afraid of the paint at Newtown? 
the paint outside the windows. I think unless summer has 
altogether taken leave of these islands it must be coming this 
week. I am invited by the Dean of Down to go to them, 
but I don't think I shall. I am longing to see the roses at 


Newtown ; I am afraid they have been sadly devoured by 
the cattle after my having paid 16 for them, I should 
not wonder if they even ate the very grafts, so that they are 
permanently destroyed. Should I live to see another year I 
must take measures to prevent such a misfortune occuring 
again ; it has been only within the last two or three days the 
full misfortune has struck me. There has always been a 
great neglect at Newtown. On a Sunday we must make one 
person answerable for the garden ; I must fix upon a day 
for going home and keep it ; I wish we were all settled at 
home. Pray get dear Edith to write me a letter. I must 
contrive to have a lodging to run to not very far from Lon- 
don, for I do not like spending so much time in it as you do 
as you are inclined to spend. I think the gas is very un- 
wholesome. I long to see you all, and I am afraid the child- 
ren will melt away with the unwholesomeness of London ; 
and this a thing of constant recurrence, as you cannot be in 
the house while it is painting, and it can never be painted 
before July, and it must be painted every year. Little Fair- 
holme was getting pale and sickly in London, and she has 
only now recovered by being brought into the country. I 
have a kind invitation from Mrs. T. Woodward, and if 
it does not take up more than a day or two I may 
accept it. I am extremely uncomfortable on being away 
from you and the children; they always here oppose my 
fixing a day, and yet it must be I think it will be on Mon- 
day week that I shall turn my face homeward. Ever, my 
dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


I will never more be beyond a day's reach of you again. 


21st July, Monday. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, My letter is just despatched 
and I begin another to tell you that I perfectly despair of 
your turning your face homewards. I begin to wonder if 
you seriously think of selling Newtown. I am sure if you 
spend all the summer in London I don't see the use of a 
country house to you. You don't seem to have the least 
idea of coming home. This house is as famous for music as 
it used to be for painting. ... I am determined to go 
away next Monday, and I don't think I shall pay another 
visit as long I live. What a provoking thing is your devotion 
to London. I believe you would be happier if Newtown 
were sold. I can't bear to think of my precious Edith 
withering away in London, and I am quite cross I know. 
I am dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Don't my dearest Catherine, wait longer in London what 
good is to be got by remaining? Even the dancing mistress 
is gone or ought to be. . . . What a fearful prospect for 
us allthat the temper grows more irritable as we grow older 
if it be not checked what shall we become. 

Wednesday, July 23rd. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I am longing to see the roses 
at Newtown. The climate of this place is very backward ; 
not a rose is blooming and the hawthorns are in full blossom. 
Remember this is July and the lilacs also. You will be 
surprised to hear that Grace has not painted for some time : 
she is absorbed in her babies. We are happy as possible: 
This morning she and I are going to draw, as the others are 


away. I feel quite well. I ought to apologize for talking 
so much about my own health, but it is because I know you 
would expect to hear. We have a fire here every day and 
almost all day long. They are as fond of dogs as you are ; 
and there are three in the room. As soon as I get home I 
shall be most anxious to hear that you are coming too. I 
shall long to hear that you have fixed the day for your journey 
homewards. I long for the moment to arrive when I shall 
meet you again. I don't think that I shall ever consent to 
be so far from you again. It is not wise at the close of life 
to be separated from what one most dearly loves. Grace talks 
of our going to see something of the Monastery, and the 
Abbot. The Monastery I consider a very inferior novel, 
and I don't think much of the Abbot either. I long for the 
time when we shall meet. I hope the children are improving 
and not shewing any temper. The longer I live the more 
I am convinced that the greatest kindness you can shew 

children is to correct their tempers. I hope aids you 

in this, and does not shew any propensity to be constantly 
nagging, which is the worst thing for a child. 
Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


I shall have scarcely a moment to-morrow to write, as there 
will be so much time taken in going and returning from 
church, besides the uncertainty of the post. 

Grace made me unhappy to day by saying that my darling 
Edith looked delicate ; though I believe she is mistaken, 
the idea makes me quite unhappy. Do tell the dear child 
to write to me herself that I may have the comfort of seeing 
her dear hand- writing once; but don't let her be teazed 
about it. I am so longing to be with you all. 


Later I am glad you have fixed a day for going to Ire- 
land. I don't think I shall voluntarily separate from you 
again. I am not happy in being so far away from you. 

Since the following letter, written in the year 1860, there 
has been a terrible sequel to the allusion regarding Mr. 
Baker's murder, in the same tragical ending to the earthly 
career of a gentleman who married the grand-niece of the 
Mr. Baker here spoken of as a victim, she was his cousin and 
a daughter of Mr. Baker of Lismacue. 

Wednesday, July 23rd. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I was most unreasonable in 
blaming you for not coming home. I am quite sure you will 
come as soon as you can. We must contrive another year (if 
I live) to manage better. I am sorry I mentioned my head- 
ache to you ; I am sure it is of no consequence, it is only 
nervous ; it is neither bilious nor rheumatic ; I have it not 
to-day at all. I mean as I go through Dublin to consult Sir 
Henry Marsh and abide by his advice. I think more highly 
of him and of Dr, Bright than of anyone else. I shall be 
so happy to see you again. I understood from Anna that 
Strother was coming to Ireland, I don't know when. I have 
only heard from Anna once since I saw her in London. Poor 
Strother ! he seems quite deserted and forgotten. What a 
melancholy feeling it is that we are liable to be so soon for- 
gotten', but yet it is the fate of human beings ; I wonder why 
one shrinks so much from such an usual fate. . . . Grace 
Fairholme is always cheerful and happy. . . . There has 
been a gentleman staying here, a Mr. Baker, a remarkably 
gentlemanlike man, very agreeable. He is going to Ireland. 
He goes to day. He is married and a man of fortune ; 
perhaps he will settle there; he thinks of it, though Mr. 
Fairholme would like him to settle in Scotland. I gave him 
letters to Mr. Bagwell and Colonel Phipps, and I hope I 


shall meet him there. He is very well informed. He is not 
related to the Mr. Baker who was murdered. Give my love 
to the darlings and tell Edith to write to me. 
Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


These letters are amongst the very last she ever wrote, 
and were penned when the fatal disease she laboured under 
had made very great progress. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I shall be at home sooner than 
you think; I am longing to make my preparations, and I 
am longing to fix the day. I feel quite anxious to have the 
day fixed for setting out for home ; I shall decide the moment 
the weather appears reasonable. I shall go by Glasgow, and 
this time see the Clyde to advantage, which I did not last 
time. I am sorry to say that I this morning broke the nib 
of the little pen you gave me, arid which I have used since; 
I broke it this morning, and Grace has supplied me with 
another which fits in my little silver case. I thank God I 
am quite well now, but I have grown older in mind, (as I 
ought to be). I shall feel quite conceited to be considered 
as anything better than a dull old woman ; I was very fool- 
ish ever to wish to be invited when (nobody knows better 
than I) how utterly unacceptable old women are. I do not 
know how one deceives one's self in fancying that time makes 
an exception in our favour; yet experience and observation 
tell us quite the contrary. I had something to say, but for- 
get what that something is ; I wanted you to know, I suppose 
I shall think of it when my letter is gone. There is always 
fuss to get our letters in, the time is so short for answering 
them, then I have a letter of Fanny Woodward's to return 


to you, I rummage and look for it. I have sent Kinross an 
announcement that there is a cheque on the way for my 

Your affectionate mother, 


Thursday or Monday I leave Scotland. 

MY DEAREST CATHERINE, I think I seem born for no 
other purpose than scribbling to you, I am so glad to think 
that the time is really approaching when we shall meet. I 
feel happy in the thoughts ; my friends here are so very 
kind, that I feel it almost treason to wish to leave them, but 
I do. I think I should be less impatient if it were not for 
crossing the sea, but I am so very anxious to have the 
voyage over, and so foolishly fearful that I fear I have come 
to my second childhood. What a delightful thing it is to 
look forward to a world where there is no growing old, and 
no headaches or sickness of any kind. In one of your letters 
you ask what is to be done with Rolandi's books I wish 
them to be sent to Newtown ; I should like my brougham to 
be sent there too. I wish Mr. Osborne would buy me a 
good strong brougham horse as soon as possible. I believe 
my only chance of lasting any time is to be a good deal out 
in the open air. Many people would think it little mattered 
whether my useless frame held out or not, I know you are 
not of the number. Mr. Fairholme this morning propound- 
ed a scheme for practising me in quick motion ; he says he 
will personate a mad bull and roar that I may shake off my 
languid movements. I am not very much disposed to think 
that will do, for I could not believe in the reality of the bull, 
but I am going to set off for home next Monday. I shall 
consult Sir Henry Marsh on my way through Dublin ; he is 
the person whom I have most confidence in, except Dr. 


Bright. We are going with the rest of the party to sketch. 
I to make believe doing so. I hope I shall hear good news 
of yourself and_the children by to-day's post. 
Ever, my dearest Catherine, 

Your affectionate mother, 


Remember I am to set off for Newtown on Monday. I 
wish for my horse and brougham directly I come. I hope 
Mr. Osborne has bought a horse for me. I will pay him 
next quarter. 

A letter to the Admiralty notified to her daughter that 
Lady Osborne had not been so well, but had started off for 
Dublin, where without loss of time she went to meet her. 
She was charmed to see her, but she had had her first stroke 
of paralysis which destroyed consecutive memory. 

The journey homewards was most sad and hopeless. She 
died in her 61st year at Newtown Anner, the house she 
loved so well. 

She gave to religion, life in all its plenitude ; she did not 
delay to take it up as a resource from despairing of mortal 



ON reading over the first series of letters in the first volume 
the Editor perceives that notwithstanding having taken great 
trouble, from page 78 to page 162 she has not always put 
the letters in the order in which they were written, but this 
oversight does not injure the thread of Lady Osborne's 
career, at least materially so. 

There are a few other trifling errors, especially of names, 
such as putting Rowe for the Mr. Roe whose daughter was 
one of the victims in the Holy head railway disaster occasioned 
by petroleum. The same remark may be made about the 
later letters of the second series, save that in the latter case 
dates rectify the misplacements. 

Lady Osborne read poetry most beautifully, and the editor 
well remembers how often Mr. Woodward would ask her to 
read to him " The Idiot Boy," out of Caroline Fry's Listener, 
and Moultrie's " My Brother's Grave." 

The Rev. John Hartley, referred to in her letter from 
Nice, wrote " Researches in Greece and the Levant." 

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